Philosophy in an African Place

For Lisa, and in memory of Emmanuel Eze

LEXINGTON BOOKS A division of Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Liulefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200 Lanham, MD 20706 Estover Road Plymouth PL6 7PY United Kingdom Copyright © 2009 by Lexington Books All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Janz, Bruce B., 1960Philosophy in an African place I Bruce B. Janz. p.cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7391-3668-3 (cloth: alk. paper) ISBN 978-0-7391-3670-6 (electronic) 1. Philosophy, African. I. Title. B5305.1362009 199' .6-dc22

2009023213

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Contents

Acknowledgments

ix

I:

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

2:

Tradition in the Periphery

37

3:

Questioning Reason

63

4:

"Wisdom Is Actually Thought"

99

5:

Culture and the Problem of Universality

121

6:

Listening to Language

155

7:

Practicality: African Philosophy's Debts and Duties

185

8:

Locating African Philosophy

213

Bibliography

253

Index

265

vii

Acknowledgments

CHAPTERS 1 AND 2 Small excerpts from both of these chapters were published as "Philosophy as I f Place Mattered: The Situation of African Philosophy," Havi Carel and David Gomez, eds. What Philosophy Is (London: Continuum Publishers, 2004): [03-115. These excerpts are reprinted by the kind permission of the editors and of Continuum International Publishing Group.

CHAPTER 4 Chapter 4 has been published in slightly altered form as: "Thinking Wisdom: The Hermeneutical Basis of Sage Philosophy." African Philosophy 11, no. [ (June 1998): 57-71. Reprinted by the kind permission of Katherine Faull, e"ecutor of the estate of Emmanuel Eze.

CHAPTERS A few paragraphs in chapter 8 came from "Alterity, Dialogue, and African Philosophy," Postcolonial African Philosophy: A Critical Reader, Emmanuel Cflukwudi Eze, ed. (Oxford, England: Basil Blackwell Ltd., 1997): 221-238.

Several institutions supported research on this book or gave me office and library resources during the writing of the book. They include.; Augustana ix

x

Acknowledgments

University College (now the Augustana Faculty of the University of ~Ibe~a), University of Central Florida, University of Nairobi, Fordham Umverslty, and Rhodes University, South Africa. .. This would not have been possible without the input, support, and cntlque of several people. These include: Emmanuel Eze, Kai Kress~, Gail Presbe~, Pedro Tabensky, Ward Jones, John Pittman, Lisa Roney, Keith Harder, Phil Merklinger, Ross Emmett, Shaun Gallagher, Jay van Hook, !ennifer ~isa Vest, Kurt Young, Claudia Schippert, Shelley Park, Joseph Situma, Onare Nyarwath, and Bertold Bemreuter.

Chapter One

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

WHERE IS PHILOSOPHY'S APPROPRIATE PLACE? lJe:rrida, as he often does, asks the probing and incisive question: 1 will begin with the question "where?" Not directly with the question "where are we?" or "where have we come to?" but "where does the question of the right to philosophy take placeT' which can be immediately translated by "where ought it take placeT Where does it find today its most appropriate place?1

Where, he asks, does the question of the right to philosophy take place? Not "who has the right," but "where is the right?" One might be inclined to say, without much thought, that it can take place anywhere, that we are ull philosophers in our own ways, that philosophy is about abstractions and universals, which are available wherever there is someone to think them. Or, someone else might be inclined to say, again without much thought, that it cun only take place in the prescribed places, the departments sanctioned by the university and the discipline. Either anywhere or somewhere (but not nowhere). But from where does the conviction arise, that it can happen anywhere, and where do those stand who define that prescribed place? "Where" iii not so easily answered. Why should "where" matter to African philosophers? The history of Africlln philosophy has been the history of struggle to find a place, or to claim u place, or to assert the entitlement to a place, in the face of those who have muintained that it has no place. It is not everywhere, nor is it in any particular, privileged place, according to those we have grown accustomed to listen to. 11 iN nowhere. Not the nowhere of transcendence, nor the nowhere of primordlulity, or memory, or promise, but rather the nowhere of obliviqn, or at best

2

Chapter I

derivativeness. Even the traditions of African philosophy that are most likely to simply assert their entitlement to a place and willfully ignore the history of exclusion, must always have one eye on that which is being ignored. These traditions too come from a place, an intellectual place as well as a geographical and cultural one. That there might be a "where" of philosophy suggests that there can be a geography of philosophy (as opposed to a philosophy of geography, or some other Hegelian inheritance). The idea that philosophy itself might be the subject of the inquiry of some other discipline is not new; there is, after all, the sociology of philosophy,2 an anthropology of philosophy,3 and one might see the discussions concerning the end of philosophy as disciplinary attempts to break apart the hegemony of philosophy and its presumption to universality.4 Philosophy has always relied on texts; thus, it can be reduced to textual studies. It has predominantly been done by white males of a certain class; thus, it can be seen as products of desire or power. In each case, a hermeneutic of suspicion breaks apart philosophy's pretensions to uniquely access the universal, and if it has no more access to universals, its raison d' etre dissipates. Is this what is behind imagining a geography of philosophy, a breakdown or dissipation of philosophy? I do not think so. Asking "where does the question of the right to philosophy take place?" does not suggest that philosophy is reducible to the local beliefs of a group of people, nor that philosophy can be subsumed under other disciplinary interests. The geography of philosophy does not lead to ethnophilosophy. Placing philosophy in a geography suggests that it has contingent but not arbitrary interests, that it responds to and shapes a particular set of conditions of reflection. It is the contention of this book that philosophy must attend to the conditions in which its questions arise, and that this attention does not diminish philosophy's traditional (although never completely fulfilled) striving for universals. Imagining a geography of philosophy means asking a different question than philosophers are used to asking. The identity question "what is philosophy?" has long been a focus of philosophical activity. Certainly when it comes to judging whether a "marginal" area of inquiry should count as philosophy, that question has been central. But even in mainstream work, philosophers have always presumed that they have an identifiable domain, governed in part by the nature of the questions asked, in part by the identity of the citizens, both historical and current, and in part by the recognition afforded the field by those who are not philosophers. The questions asked, which count as philosophical, are those which fit into the broad categories that every first year student learns -ontology, epistemology, axiology, methodology. The citizens of the domain are those who have been recog-

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

3

lIized over time, whose work has sustained philosophical debate, and who currently engage the set of recognized questions and thinkers. The recognilion afforded philosophy by other disciplines is such that philosophy has been given a territory in relation to other territories, with disputed borderlands to be sure, but with a kind of integrity. What is not often noticed, though, is that the question "what is philosophy?" does not easily lend itself to the work it has to do in legitimating the field of philosophy. "What is (or what should count as) philosophy?" is essentially a metaphysical question (with, of course, moral and epistemological undertones), implying we can tind an essence, and it assumes a celtain kind or answer. It assumes that the question can be answered in the abstract before il is answered in the concrete, that any potential candidate might approach the bench and plead for inclusion, and the case will be judged against existing siandards. But there is a circularity-how can we ask "what is philosophy" apart from that which has been regarded as philosophy to this point? We tell our students that there is something intrinsic to philosophical questions that makes them philosophical rather than, say, psychological, political, or historical, but how could we tell the difference between our abstract image of philosophy and the one we have inherited from others in the West who have "Iso identified themselves as part of this enterprise? That metaphysical, abstract question, meant to establish a standard that all applicants must meet, seems to undermine itself, for it cannot be asked in the abstract anymore. Those who might be able to ask it are already immersed in a tradition. And, there are other problems: who are these judges, who would determine the legitimacy of "questionable" areas? Who appointed them? Are they able to stand beyond any tradition, and judge fairly? Of course not. For most philosophers, these questions are moot and uninteresting. Either we think we already know philosophy when we see it, or we have intemall:led the critical debates of the past decades, and the question of place reduces 11Ir us to the question of contextualizing conditions for the production of philosophy. In either case, we inherit an existing acknowledged tradition. Yel, for African philosophers, these questions are central. Africa has always lubored under the accusation of the West that it is incapable of generating a philosophy. Even now, African philosophy is as likely to be seen as a species of cultural or postcolonial studies, or of "self-studies" areas such as AfricanAmerican studies. 'The concern with philosophical identity and legitimacy is really a concern for one's place in a discipline, and in the academy. The "nowhere-ness" of AI'ricun philosophy, from the point of view of the discipline as a whole, must he countered by those who believe that African philosophy has or deserves u pluce on the philosophical map. But how? The options to thi~ point have

Chapter J

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

been clear-either show how one's work really does meet the standards of the discipline and always has ("we are really part of your country after all"), or show that one's work describes a new facet of philosophy, previously ignored ("your country's boundaries must extend to encompass us"), or assert that one's work predates and forms the basis of the discipline at large ("your country is really our country"), or finally argue that one's work has its own integrity, judged by its own standards, which nevertheless can be translated to the discipline at large ("we have our own country-now let's negotiate trade relations"). All these strategies are good spatial thinking. In each case, the metaphysical question, "Is there an African philosophy'?" guides the kind of research that is done. The research flows along one of the lines mentioned, and the ultimate goal is to establish that, in some way, African philosophy can carve out or claim a space on the academic map. Many African philosophers have felt uneasy about this; it is common to hear and read pleas to stop arguing about whether African philosophy exists, and start doing it. Some have gone further, and simply regarded the question of the existence and nature of African philosophy as alreadY answered, or as pointless, and have moved on to consider specific problems. The frustration is understandable, and points to the effort wasted on justifying one's existence, and the insult implied in answering someone else's challenge. And yet, can a philosopher ever stop asking what it is to philosophize? This is the fundamental question of the discipline. It is thought thinking itself. This is, finally, all that we do-ask fundamental questions, including questions about the nature of our questions and those doing the questioning. And it is no different for African philosophy, but therein lies the central problem. How can one ask the central question of philosophy, while not appearing to ask it as a response to a challenge from an otherwise indifferent discipline? The spatial, "mapping" strategies mentioned earlier left something out. Not another strategy for mapping African philosophy in the academic world, but rather the question of why anyone, most of all Africans, cares about philosophy at alL One might say that, like science, philosophy has a luster in Western society, that it represents reason at its most rigorous, and that any society that cannot say it has a philosophy is somehow not quite civilized. This is the progressivist inheritance of Hegel, and it is hard to shake. But there is another possible answer. One might ask what it is, from any given culture, that a person feels the need to use philosophical reason to analyze or reflect. How does philosophical reasoning emerge'? Where does it come from? As Derrida has already asked, "where does the question of the right to philosophy take place'?"

THINKING IN PLACE

4

5

One sense of being "in place" suggests a lack of motion. "Running in place" suggests expending energy but not really getting anywhere; "treading water" (swimming in place) is what a person does while waiting to be rescued. It is no wonder that we have thought of place as a static idea, as one which connotes lack of imagination, lack of "direction," or worst, impending morbidity. For philosophical travelers, this simply will not do. And yet, this book is about the importance of place, the idea that thinking in place is not only something to be desired, but which is ultimately unavoidable. What does "thinking in place" mean" In part, it means paying attention to where we are and who is around us. Philosophers have not been particularly good at listening, to our "informants" (to the extent that we even think we have informants), to our peers, to our audiences, to other disciplines, to other cultures. When philosophers think about interdisciplinarity, it usulilly takes the form of providing the "theory" for other disciplines. In other words, we think that our contribution is to help clarify the first principles or theoretical foundations of other disciplines. Science, for example, can use its tools to investigate the world, but it cannot scientifically inquire ubout science. That is a philosophical task, and the same goes for other disciplines. So, we have tended to think of other disciplines as the fodder for philosophical discussion. Notice the assumption here-philosophers clarify the methods or assumplions of other disciplines. Who clarifies philosophical methods or assumpliuns? Well, philosophers do. Philosophy, we think proudly, is the only truly He If-reflexive discipline. While philosophers may be willing to admit that philosophy happens in social contexts, it is still about ideas; while it may hllppen predominantly through texts, it is not reducible to literary theory; while ideas may have been used to justify the power of some over others, it IN not simply politics. Most philosophers paid little attention to the possibility thul philosophy might have ended, either as a result of a Hegelian completion of history or as the result of a postmodern fragmentation of disciplinary knowledge to the extent that philosophy's pretensions to universality were 110 longer relevant. For philosophers, by and large, these pronouncements of philosophy's demise went by unnoticed. And perhaps that is as it should be. Self-reflexive or not, a philosopher needs faith that his or her area of expertise still exists in order to carryon. But II' philosophers are the only ones who reflect on themselves, they are in the prCHumptuous and uncomfortable position of believing themselves to be, in M pl'Uctical sense, above method and disciplinarity, the self-thinking thought, the view from nowhere.

6

Chapter 1

But the fact is, philosophy is not from nowhere, Philosophy always comes from a place, and that place is never completely covered over by abstraction. It is never irrelevant, even if it has been ignored. Not that there is some necessary causal connection or geographical determinism, as if by figuring out the place from which philosophy comes, we can encapsulate it, know it, and need not attend to its actual content Place is a far more complex notion than what can be contained in geography. Philosophy is not reducible to place; there is no genetic fallacy or geographical determinism here. Philosophy remains a reflection on its place, geographically, culturally, disciplinarily, and intellectually. If this is true, reflecting on the place(s) that philosophy finds itself in might tell us something crucial about its possibilities. African philosophy is a particularly good context in which to take on this task, as I will argue shortly, since (whether its practitioners put it in explicit terms or not) it is consumed with its place in the world of philosophy in general, its place in relation to its cultural origins and present milieu, its place in the formation of the identities of its practitioners. At the same time, 1 believe it has tried to contain the troublesome and mUltiplying questions about place by appealing to space and the onto-theological guarantees that such a move affords. Philosophy resides primarily in the questions that make particular concepts viable, not in its dogmas, proponents, or history. Because of this, it is possible to regard philosophy as taking place seriously. Philosophy has usually been seen as a set of practices which abstract from place. To the extent that place is taken seriously, one is not doing philosophy, but rather something else-political studies, literature, anthropology, or some other discipline. Philosophy is not reducible to place in some determinist fashion, nor is philosophy-inplace against abstraction. All abstraction is itself derivative on the conditions in which ideas form. Philosophical questions are necessarily questions that have some element of abstraction in them, and that includes both analytic philosophy as well as interpretive thought as it appears in various traditions. So what might place mean, when it comes to philosophy? Jeffrey Malpas, in Place and Experience,S argues that our sense of self. space and time, agency, objectivity are all tied to our sense of place. These central aspects of human experience, then, the ones which have been of intense interest to philosophers, must take place seriously. Malpas is not the first to see place as integrally and fundamentally related to the human condition. The later Heidegger, in shifting his emphasis from time to place, came to regard dwelling as a central feature of being human in the world, and wrote about the ways in which technology can serve to cover over dwelling. Since Heidegger, a steady stream of philosophers have addressed various aspects of the relationship between subjectivity and place, but the question of philosophy's own place is still largely unexplored.

Introduction: Philosophy-In-Place

7

The traditional question put before African philosophers concerning their I1cld is this: What is the identity of African philosophy? Almost all thinkers Mart from this point, if only to express frustration that the question cannot be II voided. Variations on statements such as the following are common at the hcginning of work on African philosophy: Thus in almost all the institutions of higher learning in Africa, COUl1ies in African philosophy are designed, but topped with questions such as: What is African philosophy? Does African philosophy exist? Who is an Mrican philosopher?6

Questions such as these already assume an essentialist stance. They assume that an identity will be found, or at least posited, SO that the task of reflection ..:un take place. The task of this book is to survey the ways in which such essentialism has caused problems for African philosophy. The impulse to find an essential foundation, to map terrain, to carve out a bit of intellectual tcrritory from an otherwise recalcitrant discipline, has led to the continuing nced for self-justification. This ultimately casts the conversation between Africa and the rest of the philosophical world as one in which self and other ure in an opposition whose only resolution can be found in the diminution of the other. So, African philosophy ties its hopes to finding a niche that has not heen explored, or has been abandoned, or has been forcibly co-opted at some puint in the past. The reaction by the philosophical establishment has either been bemused tolerance or active resistance. Either way, the strategy of using metaphysics to establish the credentials of this area only serves to further the essentialist malaise, and continues to render the area as a marginal pursuit. This is violent philosophy, and it only breeds more violence. Is there another way? I believe there is. The question of African philosophy needs to be re-asked, not from an essentialist but from a phenomenological lind hermeneutical point of view. Instead of carving territory, there should be Ii way to rethink this nascent field through its own theoretical structures, ruther than through a metaphysical attitude inherited from elsewhere. If this cun be done, then the conversations that African philosophy has with other IJhilosophical pursuits, other disciplines, and other sets of commitments, can yield It positive result. Rather than asking "What is the identity of African phiIU!lophy?" one might instead ask "What is it to do philosophy in this (African) plu..:e?" The concept of place has received comparatively little philosophical auention until this century, possibly because the problem of how to reconcile the particular and the universal in philosophy tended to be solved by opting fur the universal. Space was, of course, much discussed. But place was left to Ihe ilrtist to represent, to the literary figure to describe, and to the colonist to lIubHume under a universalizing structure of reason. And yet, the question of

8

Chapter I

"how it is done here" continues to be the operative epistemology for the vast majority of the world. Heidegger, perhaps, gives the first systematic glimpse into place, but it falls to Merleau-Ponty to make the concept the centerpiece of a philosophical system. One might take his notion of embodied knowledge as requiring a sense of place for fulfillment. The two together, along with any mediating devices (such as technology) that make the connection between body and place possible, we will call the "milieu." When we ask about place, therefore, we ask about the type of knowledge that is made possible in a particular milieu. To a certain extent, the knowledge itself will be a function of the milieu, and both the place and the body that knows the place will tind their identity in the kind of relationships possible in the milieu. How does philosophy fit into the milieu? If it is true that everyone reflects on a world of meaning, and at the same time the place and subject are defined reciprocally, where does philosophical retlection fit? The critique of ethnophilosophy, that reflection must be in some way different from the day-to-day practice of life, is surely correct. Philosophy becomes a particular kind of reflection in the milieu. It is not abstracted reflection, which severs the ties between meaning and structure; it is universal reflection, in which the goal is not day-to-day coping but rather the larger project of self-conscious reflection on and maintenance of the milieu itself. It is the reflection that allows the thinker to transcend cultural boundaries while at the same time being forever tied to them. If philosophy becomes a unique sort of reflection on the milieu, we might ask just where this can be found. I have already alluded to the possibility that the sages might point toward this, but 1 would not want to set this up as another example of a traditional/modem split. in which the "traditional" has some access to some sort of pure identity that can be articulated only through the auspices of the professional (modem) philosopher. Serequeberhan advocates something like this in theory. and current sage philosophy practices it. . Roles, however, cannot so easily be defined. There is no purity in African philosophy. But this dialectic serves not only to lionize the traditional as some sort of well-spring of true African thought (which may in fact not be the case), but also is a kind of false humility on the part of the modern philosopher (who is usually the one advocating this position). It is humility because the locus of knowledge seems to be placed outside of the training of the modem philosopher; it is false because in fact the knowledge of the traditional is vindicated and constructed in the institutions of philosophy that only the modem philosopher has access to. This dichotomy is an attempt to reify a dialectic, and in doing so the conversation moves from hermeneutic to metaphysical. In this move, the access to the universal is lost.

lmroduction: PJlilosophy-in-Place

9

If philosophical reflection is not as easy as identifying a traditional/modem dichotomy, where can we find it? The milieu will not be investigated simply hy considering the various forms of opposition that are possible within it. This at best is an attempt to catalogue modalities, or expressions, of the milieu, without attempting to enter into it and understand the possibilities. But this does not mean that we cannot ask the central question of this chapter. What is it to do philosophy in this place? The "place" alluded to here does not suggest a limit to the modalities. The place is not traditional; nor is it modem. These are attempts to fix the place by referring to another place that serves liS an opposition. Where is this place? Put another way, more colloquially, where am 11 At one level, one might limit the discussion of place to immediate geographical location. 1 am wherever my body is. I am here. But where is here? How do I define "hereness"? Usually it has something to do with geography. Most people would answer that question referring to physical placement. But how do we do that? We sometimes give names-University of Nairobi, Nairobi, Kenya, Africa. "Where" indicates familiarity with these political structures. Someone 1000 years ago could be standing in exactly this spot, and if asked "where are you" would not understand the answers we give now. This suggests a couple of things-our sense of place is time-dependent (we label it using temporally indexed indicators). Our sense of place is also dependent on some sort of common knowledge. If you go half way around the world, and someone asks you where you are from, saying "Nairobi" may not mean much to them. There is something else-my answer to the question "where am I?" also depends on a sense of purpose. Who wants to know, and why? This seems to suggest that there are many places, and I choose my answer depending on the occasion. Where am I? I am beside X, either another person, or another thing. Sometlllles we give location not as a label, but as a relation. Of course, someone might wonder where X is then, but the chain of relations could continue on. We give relational locations in other ways as well. If we want to know identity, you might say "I am the sisterlbrother of X, the child of Y." This locates Y')U, not physically, but in terms of some other principle of place. In fact, in this sense, you are placed, and therefore understood, due to your relation to your relatives. 'This suggests that place has something to do with identity. Where you are defines who you are. For some people and cultures, your place in the family trec is (werwhelmingly your identity. People from specific backgrounds often nnd themselves determining placement when they meet others from the same ethnic or national group. Who are you related to, who did your ~other's aunt

11

Chapter I

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

Inurry, did your family name's spelling change over time? This is placement,

some sort of foundational structure that asserts the legitimacy of a claim and obscures the inherent oppositions in that legitimacy. Being present, on the lither hand, suggests a set of commitments and meanings not derived from some abstract structure. It precedes them. Place, then, brings a great deal with it. In various ways, to address place we must also address identity, history, memory, aspiration, family and social connection. Places stand in for all of these things-disparaging someone's place is often tantamount to disparaging all these others as well. But it is not only II matter of subjectivity. Place is important also because it is the site for the meeting between incommensurables-materiality and idea, part and whole, sdf and other. Place cannot be understood without these tensions. Therefore, if we are to understand any philosophy, particularly African philosophy, we would do well to pay attention to the site on which the fundamental tensions of life and thought are played out.

10

and a sort of identity. This is seen in more places than just genealogy. Your place in the world of work may be important to you and others. "Student," for many people, carries certain implications. A student is placed in the world. This is a label, like giving a place name, but also a relation. Where am I? I am at a specific set of coordinates. We could give our place in the world via a mathematical grid. This is what you would get if you used the global positioning system (GPS), for example. This assigns place in terms of space, and might be seen as a form of place by relation. But one might point out that, while the relations spoken of earlier are relations to (as Heidegger might put it) what we care about, defining place in terms of space gives relations that we do not care about, except in an indirect manner. If I fix my place on the ocean using a GPS, what matters to me is my point of origin, my destination, and perhaps the nearest safe haven if my craft is in trouble. The careless information is converted into careful wisdom. In itself, this is a useful activity-a GPS is a bit of technology that enables the milieu to function. But like any technology, it only makes sense out of a prior sense of place. Where am I? I am where I am from. In some way, we carry a sense of place with us. There are many writers, from Wallace Stegner and Wendell Berry in the West to Ngugi wa Thiong'o and Okot p'Bitek in East Africa who evoke in their writings a sense of place. They usually write about places that are not "exciting" in any ordinary sense. They write about rural places, about prairies and lonely mountains, about places that are not known as vacation spots or centers of commerce, government, or learning. In short, they are not the places that tend to show up on the news as the places where "important" things happen. And yet, these writers speak eloquently about the way that place affects how we understand the world. We are necessarily rooted in place, in the sense that we necessarily come at the world from an understanding, from a set of commitments. We come caring about something, no matter how dispassionate we try to be. We come from a place. It is no accident that one of the great virtues of the Enlightenment was cosmopolitanism. People thought that knowledge meant that you could draw back from any particular commitments, and be a citizen of the world. Hume, Ben Franklin. and Voltaire alI thought of themselves this way. And yet, they could not escape their place. These commitments may not be completely realizable-it may be that we cannot articulate them. Our place is something larger than we can put our fingers on. Or smalIer. We may have a sense of place connected to the house in which we grew up. It represents things, and its physical structure resonates. Where am I? I am where I am present. One need not buy into a "metaphysics of presence" to talk about being present. Metaphysics of presence assumes

THE PLACE OF PLACE The literature on place, in both philosophy and many other disciplines, is enormous, diverse, and for the most part fragmented. Put more positively, discourse about place has followed disciplinary trajectories and conversalions, often driven by resistance to dominant modes of thought and informed hy a need to recover the particularity (and in some cases, the integrity) of the subject in the face of disciplinary ways of knowing that would obscure or obliterate it. These disciplinary conversations have not necessarily been myopic, for they have drawn on work outside of their own immediate frames of reference; nevertheless, the set of connections has been limited, given the runge of work that has been done on place. 7 The person who embarks on a study of the concept of place across the disciplines might expect that some disciplines would be more "naturally" relevant than others. Geography,S for instance, and architecture 9 have always had to face up to the question of how particular places relate to those who dwell in them, or have dwelt, or in some cases (such as in the discussion of wilderness JO) do not dwell in them. These disciplines have built up a vocabuJury and set of texts that deal with place, perhaps not always by that name, hut always recognizing that the human cannot be extricated from the spatial, thut it is precisely the human that transforms the spatial into the platial (or, perhaps, it is the removal of the human that transforms the platial into the IIIputial). What is "the human," in this context? In a classic case of the hermeneutical circle, that cannot be answered apart from the platial. To be human III to be in a place.

12

Chapter I

But it is not only geography and architecture that have faced the implications of place for human meaning. Anthropology,1I art,12 cultural studiesp Iiterature,14 psychology,lS and sociology,16 among many other disciplines, have made use of place to illuminate comers of their disciplines previously overlooked. Most of this work is quite recent. And what of philosophy? Philosophical reflection on place goes back to the beginning of the tradition itselfY Edward CaseylS has provided an overview of the history of place in Western philosophy, and so that task need not be revisited here. A host of recent thinkers have theorized place-related concepts such as territory (Deleuze), region, milieu (Deleuze again), home and dwelling (Heidegger), and lived space (Bollnow). Place has been imagined as present (Dubos), absent (Auge), and lost (Relph), as location (Graeme Forbes), embodiment (Merleau-Ponty),19 a stable system of signs,20 situation,21 and the basis for agency (Malpas).22 Philosophy's interest in place is clearly strong and longstanding. Philosophy-in-place is more than the philosophical analysis of the concept of place. It turns the concept back on the practices of philosophy itself. It is the realization that we always stand on shifting ground as we philosophize, that we are always implicated by the concepts we use, and that they never remain stable. We add to the interpretive possibilities of concepts, the provenance, as we use them, and this accumulation is more than just accretion. Furthermore, the concepts that we analyze as philosophers frequently travel across discursive boundaries, whether they be disciplinary or cultural, and that travel means that a concept will always get used metaphorically (and metonymically, as the concept stands in for a larger discourse, or even comes to signify a life-world). All of this means that philosophers need to work at several levels at once. Standard philosophical conceptual analysis needs to come with retlectiveness on the place of those concepts. We must engage with the direct meaning of concepts, their provenance, and at the same time allow the concepts to raise our own place to question. Ultimately, platial analysis makes possible rigorous, open-ended creation of new concepts, ones which make universals available (that is, allow us to recognize and build on connections across cultural, disciplinary, and other boundaries), and also clarifies and establishes one's own identity. A first step in establishing this philosophy-in-place is to understand the nuances of the concept of place. It has often simply been regarded as particular physical location, and so might seem resistant to philosophical analysis (what, after all, can a philosopher say about physical particularity that does not become arid and uninteresting?) But it is in the varied uses of the concept of place that its philosophical possibilities become apparent. These uses give

InJroduClion: Philosophy-in-Place

13

cvidence of human concern, and the way that place is cast, both in academic lind non-academic settings, does not just enable us to understand the external world, but also the self and the social world. Philosophically, philosophy-inplace recognizes that there are a set of problems that do not admit of conclusive solutions, but are closer to what Gabriel Marcel termed "mysteries." As we render the world meaningful, and question its received meanings, we are III ways in the process of creating that world, thus causing our analysis to be pal1ial, yet suggestive. The various forms of the concept of place offer a way into that evolving human construction of meaning. Attention to place requires that meaning not simply be a flight of fancy, but be rooted in human concerns. The differing lind competing senses of place can be understood as ways of addressing some ccntral questions, some of which owe their roots to disciplines other than philosophy (questions have a place too), but which in the end are crucial to philosophy. Elsewhere I sketched out some of the uses of place,23 but here I wish to recast those uses in the form of philosophical questions about place which are simultaneously constitutive questions for philosophy itself (so that we are not simply doing "philosophy of place," but "philosophy-in-place"). I will illustrate the relevance of each of these in terms of African philosophy.

Question of the Topeme What is the smallest intelligible unit of a place that is intelligible as a place? Where does the legibility of place begin? Places, we imagine, are intelligible in themselves, but there is a point below which they are not intelligible. If we ure retlecting philosophically on a place, we will have to determine what the HlIlullest point of meaningfulness is. Is it, as in most modem liberal democrucies, the individual? Do we assume that places are the outworking of the I:onscious will of individuals? African philosophy famously claims the perNpcctive of "I am because we are." Is this too an imaginative construction? If we think of African philosophy as the critical rational reflection on an African life-world, what is that based on? What is a life-world? The "smallest intelligible unit of place" question (which I am calling the "lopeme") also raises the issue of the exclusivity of place. For Aristotle, the defining feature of a place was that no two things could claim it at once. It wus like a skin that wrapped itself around an object, and was shed when the uhjecI moved, only to wrap itself around whatever came past next. For our purposes, though, this raises a question for philosophy-in-place-do the intelligible places we inhabit admit of unique significance, utterly unrelated to thul of other places? Place is not space, after all, and if we start with the idea thut philosophy comes from place, are we also faced with the i!Dpossibility

]4

Introduction: Philosophy-tn-Place

Chapter I

of finding common ground for those places? In short, if we start from place, and ask about the place(s) of African philosophy, our problem becomes how (or whether) those places can relate to each other. This is vastly different from the European starting point, which assumes that philosophy has a universal character, and that Africa simply has to measure up. If place were left as a metaphysical entity, we would be faced with all the epistemological problems of nominalism. Philosophy-in-place, however, does not start from the assumption that place is metaphysical. The question of the topeme also raises the issue of the distinction between space and place. Space is sometimes seen to be allied with, or a function of, modernity, while place is seen as more traditional. This might suggest that a place is an irreducible unit of cultural meaning, which is being destroyed by spatial thinking in the form of globalization (or in philosophical terms, by the tendency toward globalized thought which reduces local thought to cases in point). In fact. though, while spatialization can have that effect (a~d as I will argue later, the spatial tendency in African philosophy can result 10 a lack of attention to place), it will also be important to resist the idea that philosophy-in-place is solely about finding irreducible units of cultur.al (or philosophical) meaning. Place is like a language, but that langu~ge IS not reductionist. Indeed, even as there are topemes, there are assemblIes, or aggregations. which allow philosophical traditions to respond to the pro~ises and threats of new places while remaining true to the debts and dutIes of the present place.

Question of Aggregation What do we bring together to constitute place? Barry Lopez in Arctic Dreams argues that "Place is collectively made up of the conglomeration of many different elements within this locale."24 Despite the sense that places are irreducibly atomistic, in fact experienced places are aggregates of meaningful experiences encoded into material or legible structures. Our places are made meaningful as much as they are discovered as meaningful. Place often designates uniqueness, in a romantic sense, but in fact even those unique places are aggregates, productions that have constituent pa~s. The quest~on of aggregation follows on the question of the topeme. and IS not ~ questl~n of place as such, but of philosophy-in-place. In other words. my mterest IS not in proposing an analytics of place, but in establishing that philosophy which attends to its place is faced with the ways in which its concepts are produced, in particular the ways in which fecund concepts are produced (that is, concepts that lead to the production of more concepts. rather than rendering philosophical reflection arid and uninteresting).

]5

In African philosophy, the aggregation of place implies that we are always working with an assembly. That means that the search for a pure cultural experience will fail, even though the search for cultural experience with integrity has every chance of succeeding. Integrity is a cohesion of the aggregation, rather than a denial of it. Later I will argue against the idea of purity in l'ullure while at the same time maintaining that integrity is possible through the reenactment of reflective thought. The important thing to realize, though, IN that aggregations can also be used in tension with each other, and that tenNilll! is a productive moment.

Question of Scale What level of place is significant? How do various levels of place inscribe themselves on each other? Place often refers to what is near me or those with whom I identify. Rather thun referring to a discrete "thing," place may be thought of as a continuum, with "closer" and "further." The local also comes with metaphorical impliI:utions-it is not simply proximity, but emotional or meaningful nearness. f .Ul~y Lippard, in The Lure of the Locai,25 does not see the local as just about proximity, but about the aspects of the proximate which endure. for good I·cusons. and which speak of intimate human relations rather than bureaucratic nr technological relations. We furthermore think of all of our places as models of our closest and most Immediate place. We inscribe local place on higher levels of place as well. The state becomes like the home, and the leader like the father. The region becomes like a family, with distant cousins, aunts, and uncles. Home is inhuhited. the lived place made livable (and expressed as livable) by the habits we bring. There is a reciprocal relationship between ourselves and the places Ihut we "dwell." In other words, just as we transform our environment into "home" at the same time our environment serves to create us as well. 26 True place, then, has some features of "home" to it, for some people, and the extent to which we are "un-homed" (unheimlich, to use a Heideggerian term) is the extent to which we are also "dis-placed." We must, to use another lit' Heidegger's terms, dwell, and find what it means to dwelI.27 The very term "African philosophy" speaks to the problem of scale. "AfI'lean" is a construct. and yet an ever-present reality. It was constructed from Huropean interests (the best account of this is V. Y. Mudimbe's The Invention olAfrica), and yet has deep indigenous roots. It becomes almost fractal in the ,,,-Inscriptions of concerns at higher and lower levels. Issues of identity, for InNtunce, are written at the most local level, and at the highest level as well, liN If they lire basically the same issue. As Africans articulate a ~ife-world, it

Chapter I

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

will be important to examine how these metaphors of place trdnsfer to other levels, and also to examine the ways in which the different levels of African place respond to different forces. Being African at the local level may become inscribed on a national or international level, but the philosophical concepts that arise from those levels will mutate based on the differing forms of intensity that can be found.

nUlubiographical account of her life from inside "the bone house" or the body a place from where her story can be told. 29 In fact, that bone house is more lllan just a narrative locus. Philosophy-in-place requires a consideration not only of geographical and historical context of ideas, and their relation to the production of their own context, but also the embodied emplacement of those ideas, and the consequences of that embodiment as a (forgotten) metaphor for higher level philosophical knowledge. This embodiment orients us in particular ways. Place points to "what we nrc loyal to," "what we care about," or "what matters." This sense of meaning may be expressed as subjectivity (vs. objectivity) or habit(us) (vs. space us the reflexive or known). It may point to a personal sense of freedom, over ngainst a "spatialization" which locks a person into external causes. Places, fur many, are tied to the stories that can be told about them, or that they evoke. So, place may in some cases be the site (or more properly, situation) of personal meaning, or for others the cause of personal meaning, or for others the precondition of personal meaning. This significance mayor may not be recognized, or mayor may not be l'n:ated by the subject. Many people speak of a "sense of place," which suggests that some can recognize or feel the "placeness" of (a) place, that is, its Nignificance as a place rather than as an interchangeable aspect of space. The milieu is not only about geographical location, then, but also what huppens, and how we decide on what is worthy of attention. One geographil'ul point may be several places; one place may have several locations. Places muy "quote" or refer to other places ("little Italy," "Chinatown"). Place also IIccms to be inextricably linked to social roles, and with the shattering of these tl'llditional roles comes the profound sense of "placelessness."3o Placelessness finy be the loss of a milieu (or the incommensurability of one milieu with the perceived forms of understanding held by those around), or it may be 'iremdhf'il," foreignness which has both corrosive and creative possibilities. More is needed than scientific method to overcome this version of placelessness. We cunnot just re-appropriate a place by rationally investigating it. The milieu must be re-presented, and made meaningful again. The idea of the milieu stands in contrast to the idea of the center. A center is Ntutic, and centripetal. A milieu is fluid, and centrifugal, that is, its coherence comes not from identifying and preserving itself, but from reenacting itself in new forms. So, while we model our place-knowledge on our most immediate I'mrns of knowledge, we do not simply project our subjectivity on the world In ~ume idealist manner. Philosophy-in-place begins from what matters, whatever that may be. Clearly a milieu under the condition of placelessness struggles to find what Ihut may be. What "matters" is not determined by introspection; put in a suf-

16

Question of Borders How do we distinguish places from each other? How does thought flow across places, so that what is an expression of a life-world in one place becomes foreign in another? Where does that change happen, and what happens there? Many uses of "place" are really about personal, community, regional, or national identity. This identity can be understood either as accruing from place in a relatively linear or causal manner, or more commonly that the construction of place is also the construction of self, so that place and identity need to be approached dialectically or reciprocally. Regionalism, in particular, has been a popular way of linking place and identity, as regions seem less constructed by mechanisms of state formation and more by the practices of people. The sense of identity is reinforced by considering the "liminal" or borderline "places," the events in a person's life of transition or change or movement from one role to another. There is disruption here, a contradiction between the identity maintained and the identity exchanged. On the other hand, for some, place means indigeneity, itself a category understandable by its threatened status. 28 In African philosophy, borders are very important. One might say that they are an ever-present concern. Many thinkers have been very concerned with the borders between African and non-African thought, between forms of African thought, as well as the borders between traditional and modern thought. Taxonomies such as Odera Oruka's "Trends" seek to establish the map of African thought, simultaneously demarcating it from other forms of thought and distinguishing (even hierarchicalizing) internal forms of thought. These forms are treated as solitudes, but the more interesting question comes when we look on the borders of these forms.

Question of the Milieu How does the place (and in particular, human place) relate to its surroundings? How does our notion of place extend outward from our bodily knowledge to encompass all that we find ourselves in the middle of? Nancy Mairs has an

liS

17

18

Chapter 1

ficiently alienating place, the ability to organize significance is compromised. In a situation of slavery, colonialism, and neo-colonialism, the milieu may be murky indeed. Achille Mbembe speaks to this in On the Posteolony. It is sufficient here to say that philosophy-in-place in Africa will necessarily have to take into account the corroded (but not lost) milieu that many feel at the personal and public levels.

Question of Intensity How is human place characterized by irreducible differences that come into play and create new places? An intensity (following Deleuze and Guattari) is a quantity that requires difference to produce change (think of the requirement of a battery to have an anode and cathode to produce power). In African philosophy, the search for place has often focused on delving into tradition and culture to ground or substantiate the claim of Africa to a philosophical heritage. In fact, though, platial thinking would look for intensities, the locations of difference across borders that offer the possibility of creative production. So, it is not the claim of history on the African present that matters as much as the tension between the past and the present, or the rural and the urban, or the practical and the theoretical, or even the "us" and the "them," that renders philosophy productive. That tension becomes manifest only as we uncover the questions that specific concepts are answers to. And, if we give up on the assumption that Western philosophy exists in a kind of equilibrium (that is, a "mature" balance in the academic field of knowledge production) while African philosophy strives to attain that equilibrium, we can also recognize that intensities do not themselves strive for balance, but continued production. The battery in balance is a useless and dead battery, and philosophy that has lost its sense of the active sites of the creation of concepts is dead philosophy. Aristotle's sense of place assumed that it was static, a resting point; this assumption about place is one that must be resisted as we tie philosophy to place.

Question of Provenance How does a place contain the signifiers of its past? How does place relate to time? How do our present modes of thought emerge from our traditions? Which hands has a concept passed through, and what marks of provenance does the concept bear? Does the concept have a terroir? The ways in which place becomes time are extensive. Place can imply recovery of the past, experience of the present, and anticipation of the future. Place often evokes references to the passing of time, to the difference that the

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

19

place represents in different times, and to the necessity of memory in establishing a place. It can encode time in a fairly static or controlled form, as in a munument or memorial, or in a more fluid form, such as that made available ill tradition. It can take the form of nostalgia or romanticism (the place marks a particular past time, one that was preferable in some way). History may be encoded in place: "Place is significant in that, for the Apache, history is conceptualized spatially."31 "For the Foi, place is the more tangible expression of lemporality which can be expressed through poetic images."32 Provenance is more than the realization of history'S effects on the present. In fact, there is always more to the effect of history than what we realize. Specifically, we do not simply examine history as if it were an object. Our methods of examination themselves come out of provenance. Even more importantly, the questions we can ask come out of provenance. This is important In realize in all areas of philosophy, especially since we tend to think that our questions come from no-place. Philosophy-in-place in Africa will require thinking African questions, which includes developing modes of analysis 111111 come out of those questions. This will not mean ignoring the resources Ihat may be available from other world traditions, but it will mean that those rcsources must be seen as answers to other questions. Philosophy-in-place in Africa will have to focus on African questions, rather than claims or beliefs, us the starting point of thought. Traditions of thought developed in the West Nuch as hermeneutics may prove useful in Africa, but only if we first recogni.,;c that such traditions may have been developed in a different milieu, addressing different questions. Then, the issue of the border becomes important. I low can an approach which emerged to answer different questions find its home in a new soil?

Question of Self and Other I low does place function as an irreducible contrast in the construction of self? For some thinkers, places must resist total sUbsumption under the self. Place must bear a sense of foreignness. Place must not be inunediately or intuitively kn(lWn (and thus be completely brought into or identified with the self), but rUlher it should let itself be shown forth. It stands at a distance from the self.JJ Place, as a theoretical concept, is often oppositional, sometimes to disI:lplinary methods or structures (perceived as alienating or as insufficiently lihle 10 access human meaning), or modernity (perceived as overly concerned with structural components at the expense of individual experience), or even pUNt-modernity (perceived as too willing to frolic in irony and the free-play lit' lIignifiers, and not sufficiently interested in anything that might matter to lIomeone). It is disruptive of received ways of understanding the w.orld or even

20

Chapter 1

of other places. Place resists the homogenization ~f cul~re. ·'Ne.w sp~ces of resistance are being opened up, where our 'place' (tn all Its meanmgs) IS considered fundamentally important to our perspective, our location in the world, . d' f "34 and our right and ability to challenge dommant Iscourses a power. In philosophy-in-place in Africa, the border"of self and ~th~r has always been a contested one. If "I am because we are holds any slgmficance. then there is no Archirnedean point in the discrete self of liberal democracy. No one can build the institutions of society, or the places of culture, from the foundation of an individual self. And, as Fanon, Mbembe, and others have astutely pointed out, the corrosion of the self under colonialism puts us even further away from the triumphalist narrative of identity construction i~ the 'Yest. Philosophy-in-place is also not intercultural or comparative p~tlosophy. If it were, the question of self and other would become the questton. of the means and basis for the comparison of places. We would be meaSUrIng the relative proximity of places to each other, and reporting on similarities and differences, perhaps even judging superiority or inferiority. This is not the self and other question that I have in mind here, since this is only a mediated self, already identified with some place or other and put in contrast with another place. Just as we cannot construct a place out of the building blocks of already existing selves, we also cannot collectivize and abstract those selves and put them in contrast to abstractions from other places. Place must remain both an irreducible other to the self, and a constitutive part of the self. This paradox is a difficult one to maintain in practice, ~ut to fail in maintaining it means that we either impose a Western conceptIOn of liberalism on African places, and thus systematically misunderstand the~, or we make places into abstractions of the self, comparable to other abstractions elsewhere, and thus lose the site of concept creation. Ideally, the place must interrogate the self. And as we have already seen, the topemic level and provenance of place render that interrogation complex, but ultimately far more productive and interesting. . ' . . Any place, then, will be something of a mystery, a foretgn place, m Its Irreducible otherness. There is no interrogation without otherness. To the extent that we might think that our own place is merely an extension of the self and thus transparent, we have yet to allow a real interrogation to occur. In ~his, a central tenet of Boasian anthropology still has legitimacy, since we strive to make the familiar unfamiliar, and to make the unfamiliar familiar.

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

21

lind read place, and what are the limits of these metaphors? As has already l~ecn argued, plac~ is like a language (among other things)-the topeme, like the phoneme, IS an element of intelligible construction. Place has often ~I!cn regarded as a text, as legible at various levels to those who engage it. In IlIct, though, the metaphor of textuality is less useful for philosophy-in-place 111iI? the metaphor of speaking and listening. Philosophy-in-place is a topic, II thscourse on something, or perhaps more usefully, a discourse somewhere. ~)iscourse has tended to emphasize speaking, but in fact listening must take lis proper place in questioning . . Bu~ to ~hat: or to whom, are we listening? In philosophy-in-place in Af1'It.:1l, hstenmg 10 part refers to listening to place. That means listening to real humans as they express their concerns, but it means more specifically listening 10 ~he questions they are asking as those concerns are expressed. To what lire thetr concerns and concepts an answer? And how are the questions that we us philosophers bring to those discussions illuminated? How do we misunderstand, as well as understand? The topic may not even be the one we think it is, as we listen to expressions of life in a place. Philosophers are inclined to come to life with a set of categories, inherited from our training. We pattcrn-match-the concern that one person has over government corruption is 1111 ethical and social question based in a conception of fairness and distribuliye justice; the concern that another has about differing structures of value is rcully an epistemological and moral difference, solvable if assumptions and hc:lief structures are identified. Those patterns that we find invariably fit into the training we have. But the topic may not be the same. What would it mean for us to create ncw concepts, to come to the expressed problems of society in a manner that di~ ?ot sta::.wi~ philosophical cate~ories: but. with the skills of listening, the Itl'ul!ty to hst, to alter ourselves m a direction, or alternately, to organize lind order? We may then have a true topic, a place for listening and speaking where pe~ple meet. Ther~ are, of course, all sorts of barriers to such a place (liUer, I :-VIII address the dtfference between listening/speaking and dialogue); all of thts has been well established by Habermas and others. But in fact the difficulties of establishing such places may have been as much due to st~jng with philosophical assumptions about what those places should look like, as they may be due to real incommensurabilities in language.

Question of the Trace Question of Listening and Speaking How does place function as an extension of the self, as a metaphoric and metonymic imprint and mirror of bodily knowledge? How do we speak, hear.

Where can the evidence of past and other places be seen? The trace may be a trace of nature. There is an a1most Rousseauian sense uf authenticity and primordiality which is tied to Nature, whic~ makes all

22,

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

Chapter I

other places derivative, and in many cases, alienating. Some writers regard nature as the quintessential place, the place which draws out a "truer" self or subjectivity. Wilderness is sometimes seen in this way, as a necessary place for the true human self (e.g., Thoreau). Landscape is nature viewed or nature experienced. It could be considered to be place created, as a landscape painter makes nature into a place. The traces may not be romantic ones, though. Place is space invested with symbolic meaning, and that meaning becomes inscribed in a variety of ways, ranging from highly codified or ritualized ways to very fleeting ways. Michel de Certeau refers to space as "practiced place," or place that has had the meaning of practices imposed upon it. A street is a place that becomes a space when people walk on it and use it. 35 Place is culture-the earth is "terra incognita," empty space, until culture (or in some cases, a particular culture) places its imprint. Culture may be the difference between the "place" of animals, which we call their habitat, and the place of humans, and to the extent that we are willing to see symbolic order in the animal world (through bio- or zoo-semiotics), we may also speak of them as having place. Other planets are "no-place" until they at least can be described, and perhaps until there is a human imprint that leaves an indication of symbolic order. And, place may be understood as the trace of the divine. Place has been experienced as a voice, a healer, and a mystical guide. Among some religious thinkers, place becomes immanence or incarnation, the spirit made flesh dwelling among us. "Place is significant in that God made entry into time and space (the combination of which constitutes place) with His incarnation into Christ."J6 And groups such as the Pintupi in Australia hold that the songlines, discernable to those who have the proper relationship to the land, stretch not 37 only over geography but through time, back to the creation of the world. If these questions have been useful ones, it should be clear that thought must leave its traces in places. We listen to those traces, and find ways of expressing new concepts, that is, new fonns of life that re-inscribe a life-world by making it new, by reenacting it given a new set of conditions. To take the question of place seriously means to try to think anew what it is like when thought and circumslance meet. This work on African philosophy will not just ask about the place of thought in Africa, or the place of African philosophy within the discipline. It will also ask what we might learn anew about thinking from a place, when we take that place seriously. The other reason for listing questions about place is to problematize place as a geographical concept. Place is, of course, tied to physicality in some important sense, but it is not reducible to it. Our places have as much to do with the narratives, histories, and practices we attach to them as with the geographical features. Our places are contextual-one may be "African" to

23

non-African, "Kenyan" to a Nigerian, and Kikuyu to another Kenyan. Or, lIlore likely, one may be displaced, partaking in more than one place at once cven while being located in a single geographical spot. This is not just the sluff of cultural theory, but of philosophy, if we are willing to recognize that Ihought and our complex sense of life in place necessarily come together. The most useful thing a list like this does is to raise the question of what scnse of place we mean, or need, when we ask the question, "What is it like In do philosophy in this place 7" Questions are at the core of thi s project-the uhility to ask good questions, even the "right" question, the ability to recoglIize the nuances and implications of a question, and the ability to identify philosophical questions. Heidegger's most important legacy may just be Ihat he pointed us to the significance of questions not just for justifying our knowledge, but for recognizing our human experience as such. Questioning, us he says, builds a way. II

TWO PROJECTS As I have already suggested, there are two parallel projects in evidence in this hook, which operate in a reciprocal relationship. Each assumes the success of Ihe other. The project is obviously made more difficult by this fact, yet there was no other way to proceed. One project has to do with the relationship between philosophy and place. Philosophers' engagement with place has primarily been one of analysis. While other disciplines have reflected on their place, intellectually, historicully, and in relation to their subjects, philosophy has not done this to any "reat degree. Only recently have projects such as Edward Casey's Getting IJuck into Place and Jeffrey Malpas' Place and Philosophy; A PhilosophiI'UI Topography begun to gather the phenomenological work that could be "leaned from thinkers such as Heidegger, Merleau-Ponty, Derrida, Deleuze, lind others. But even these have not dealt to any great extent with the place til' philosophy. There is one paper, by Eduardo Mendiata, which raises the question in a specific (urban) setting. 3K Derrida's question, "where does [phiItlsophy] today find its most appropriate place?" has not been answered, or even taken very seriously. It is the intention of this book to give one example of an appropriate place for philosophy, and in some signifIcant sense its "most appropriate" place. Perhaps surprisingly (to some), this place is African philosophy. The second uf the two parallel projects is to work through this place, this African place, llli one which is appropriate for philosophy and always has been. Why this

",huice?

24

Chapter I

One important reason is the history of philosophical reflection on Africa. Africa has not been regarded as an appropriate place for philosophy, and Africans have not been seen as appropriate practitioners. Such sentiments are most forcefully expressed by Hume, Kant, Hegel, and others writing in the late Enlightenment and early nineteenth century. Africa is a good starting point for this study precisely because of the history of its dismissal. It should be noted that this reason in itself may well make some African philosophers uneasy. Does Africa have nothing in its own right that makes it worth studying? Is it only worthwhile because of this history of dismissal by non-Africans? Certainly, African reflective and abstract thought has its own integrity and merit, and its study does not need to be justified because of previous marginalization by Europe. At the same time, history cannot be ignored. We cannot pretend that this marginalization never happened, and suppose that there is some pure African thought that we can access outside of the history of its interactions, not only with Western philosophy but with other philosophical traditions. African philosophy has emerged as the result of a series of inter- and intra-cultural conversations, and its place cannot be abstracted from those in favor of finding some sort of place-less, time-less African philosophy. The second reason why this choice is an appropriate one is that written African philosophy has a recent history. This is not to say that African philosophy did not happen before the 1940s when Placide Tempels decided to imagine a Bantu philosophy, against the wishes and inclination of his church. Europe did not give birth to African philosophy. However, the history of written African philosophy is recent, and that presents some interesting opportunities. For one, the interpretive history, the set of texts that African philosophers today use as reference points and regard as canonical within the field, is comparatively small. Of course, one might point to Kemetic texts, one might claim Augustine as an African philosopher (despite his own wish), one might point to Zara Yacob and Ethiopian philosophy in the seventeenth century, one might point to William Amo's work in Germany, and one might point to diasporic writings as evidence that African philosophy was written long before the twentieth century, and these facts would be undeniable. However, these texts tend not to describe an interpretive history or conversation, but rather isolated (although potentially interesting in their own right) events. And what about oral tradition? It is also important, and as Odera Oruka and others have argued, that tradition contains important elements of critique and abstraction which are as philosophical as anything else. 39 However, that oral work is accessed by scholars today, and the texts exist today. The actual reflective work of scholars such as Oruka and Gyekye is current work on concepts accessed through unusual (for philosophers) means- interviews, the

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

25

l'ollection of proverbs, and so forth. None of this suggests that the work is any less interesting or philosophical; as I hope to argue throughout the book, the question of whether it is philosophical or not actually deters us from treating it as philosophical, and doing the phenomenological work that gives access 10 and allows the creation of new concepts. Given these caveats, that I am not suggesting that no written work in African philosophy precedes the 194Os, and that I am not saying that philosophy requires written records, I might return to my original observation, Ihat African philosophy has a recent textual history. Why is this important? Because the recent textual history means that African philosophers are still working out how to deal with both the written texts and the other texts that form the basis of the discipline. The nature of textuality and its relationship to philosophical discourse is a live issue with practical consequences for African philosophy, in different ways than may be the case for Western philosophy, While there certainly are works that are respected in the discipline, they have not tended to collect around them the kind of critical interpretive work that make a conversation. They are respected without being landmarks. This is nol because they cannot support such critical work; quite the opposite. It is hecause African philosophy has tended to focus on subject matter outside of ilself, and not seen its own work as supporting philosophical reflection. The work that has emerged from reading Fanon is perhaps the exception to this, for certain kinds of questions about existence in Africa, but there are few others one can point to who have provided the disciplinary and thematic organitUlion. This will change, as writers from the past few decades are recognized for the creative energy they have brought to the field and as they become generally recognized intellectual markers along the way. In reflecting on (its) place, African philosophy also has the opportunity 10 work out its own history, and come to terms with some generally acknowledged frustrations. The third reason why African philosophy is a good choice for this project is that I believe it is at the point of a new kind of selfconsciousness, the kind that happens when a group of scholars move from JUslification or legitimation of their activities to a hostile world, to the ability tu generate new insights for their own purposes. Feminism is a good com(,urison on this point. There came a time when feminist scholars moved from Juslification of the right to the place that they had, the right to speak from a l'"rlicular place, and began to actually speak from that place. One result of Ihi!! is that feminism became much more internally critical, willing to sustain difference and explore commonalities in new ways. It also meant that the crith·lue of existing conditions was not the only hallmark of feminist philosophy. II became productive and creative. Thinkers began to consider the work of Irlguruy, Butler, MacKinnon, and others not just to figure out whether they

26

Chapter I

"got it right," whatever "it" was, but to see what kind of worlds these thinkers opened up, what new ways of imagining (women's, and also human) experience were offered. Feminism became jazz, in which the players improvised off of each other, using difference not as a shibboleth but as a way of creating new ideas. And all philosophy became richer for this new music. African philosophers have always been willing to differ with one another. There has always been a strong critical trend that has been the life-blood of the field. However, the argument of this book will be that the nature of the critical engagement has been chiefly in the service of searching for a metaphysical grounding to legitimate the field. The unasked question has always been, how can we best establish African philosophy as truly African and truly philosophical? My argument here is that that question itself has distracted scholars from moving to a more creative and less defensive posture, one which can truly examine the interesting and useful ideas that might come from the sages, from the proverbs, or from the academy. One sourCe of these new insights is from African philosophers themselves. It is ironic that much African philosophy has been focused on explicating "the tradition," whatever a particular thinker believes that to be. In doing so, the philosophers themselves have either viewed each other's writings as writing about philosophy, but not philosophy itself, or as something to build upon to further a particular argument. Odera Oruka, for example, writes about the sages as philosophers, but writes about other published philosophers as commentators on philosophy, whose arguments more or less adequately support the overall goal of characterizing what is truly African and truly philosophical about African philosophy. He is not the only one that could be seen in this way; many have done this. Very few, on the other hand, have analyzed the texts of other philosophers the way that someone might read and consider the texts of Plato, Hegel, Heidegger, or others. Few, even African philosophers themselves, have considered the writings of other African philosophers to be worthy of analysis, and if they are considered, they tend not to be writers who published on the continent. This has been the case because of commitment, often unspoken, to the idea of cultural purity. If real African philosophy comes from real Africans, and these people can be identified by being "uncontaminated" by Western thought, then treating African philosophers' writings as philosophy becomes much more difficult because almost all of these people have been trained in the Western world and, therefore, are contaminated. This criticism could be taken a step further, and put in tenns of a longcontested term within African philosophical circles-ethnophilosophy. The debate, as is generally known, is over whether philosophy must be textual, personal, and critical, or whether a broader definition of philosophy might include cultures in which oral, communal, and descriptive world views seem

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

27

lIlore available. While I do not want to preview my own later comments about Ihis debate, it does seem that there is another kind of ethnophilosophy current within a field that regards philosophically important or interesting material 10 be located at a distance from the written work of philosophers, contained in culture or folkways. It is not that these are not philosophically interesting, hut philosophy (as I will argue later) is a practiced activity, not an object. No purticular belief or intellectual artifact of any culture (whether commonly or illdividually held) is inherently philosophical, but rather it becomes philosophical as it becomes part of philosophical discourse or philosophical queslioning. The main criticism that Hountondji's critique of ethnophilosophy Icvels, as I see it, is not that the objects of reflection that Tempels, Mbiti and others find philosophically interesting are not in fact interesting to philosophy (hut rather only are the province of anthropology, religion, etc.), but that the location of philosophy has been misplaced, in objects of reflection rather than in the reflective process itself. In that sense, to not treat work of philosophers liS worthy of critical reflection and analysis is to engage in the spirit, if not Ihe letter, of ethnophilosophy in its pejorative sense. So, this book will take African philosophers seriously as philosophers, ruther than as commentators on or apologists for African philosophy. This IIpplies especially to writers who have published on the continent of Africa. '111cre is no special virtue of having written in Africa itself;40 however, that is 1.1 group that has been systematically ignored, if only because their work Is often so difficult to obtain. Taking these thinkers seriously does not mean IIt!reeing with them, nor does it mean necessarily disagreeing either. It means finding the most sympathetic reading possible of their work, while at the Nume time assessing it with an eye to such questions as: what question(s) is Ihis work an answer to? What, from this work, is not readily accessible to a Western audience, and can be clarified so as to make a sympathetic reading pussible? What are the ambiguities, what is not being said in this writing? Who is the audience? What rhetorical strategies is the writer using? What Irudition(s) of philosophy is the writer assuming? This is not simply attention IU the rhetorical features of philosophy, although those are important as well. This is the procedure oLphilosophy-in-place which remains consistent with Ihe idea that philosophy is in the experience, in the doing, and that must oc~upy centre stage. We would do no less with important thinkers elsewhere in Ihe world; we should be doing this with African philosophers as well.41 A fourth reason why African philosophy is a good choice for a project on Ihe place(s) of philosophy is that I believe African philosophy has a great deal I" ~ontribute to philosophy in general, which the rest of the world has not yet hud the ears to hear. All philosophy reflects on itself as philosophy. That has heen u constant since the beginning. However, African philosophers have a

29

Chapter 1

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

unique context in which to engage in this reflection. There is the already mentioned history of exclusion. That has several aspects to it that have shaped the recent history of African thought African philosophers have had to deal with questions such as: What do we make of the relative lack of textual hist?ry? What do we make of the obvious interaction between Western and African thought-does this suggest that African thought is simply derivative? Which place(s) are hospitable to philosophy-universities? Villages? Newspapers? Which places are inhospitable? The paradox of this book is that the two projects, the attempt to reflect on the place(s) from which philosophy can appropriately emerge, and the specific place of African philosophy, each require the other to be successful. One cannot reflect on the place(s) of philosophy solely in the abstract-this must reference a specific place, or the concepts have no legitimacy. Philosophy-in-place must begin from a place, without falling for the equally m~ta­ physical position that particularity is some sort of bedrock or anchor-pomt. So, that project requires that the chosen place, African philosophy, already be worked out at some level. On the other hand, one cannot reflect on the place of African philosophy without some concepts that can aid that reflection. African philosophy does not emerge as unrelated to other places, nor does it emerge as unrelated to the set of concepts that philosophers have historically investigated. Despite the conceptual paradoxes of this book, I believe a coherent account can be woven. I wish to tum next to a brief overview of the account I intend to weave.

The concepts in the central part of the book are ones which I believe have IiCrved as the putative metaphysical grounding of the field of African philosophy. They have been the focus of most of the discussion, and that discussion has Inken the form of trying to work out some anchor-point that can guarantee that Ihe project of African philosophy is both truly African and truly philosophical. The working out of such anchor points is itself philosophical work; however, what it has in effect done is to distract attention from the activity of philosophy Ilself. African philosophy has to a great extent been taken up with the question "Is there an African philosophy?", even in the work of those who have decried lhul question as pointless, unproductive, inSUlting, or incoherent. The search for Ihat which is truly African and truly philosophical can be understood using an illluge which will come up regularly in this book, that of the map. Maps, in the modem era, have often been used to lay claim to territory or region, to establish legitimacy, provide the basis for citizenship, and create i(lentity. In the modem world, one in which we assume that what is important I!> "out there" and it is our job to represent it faithfully, impartially, and accurutely, we have developed maps that visually and textually reinforce claims 10 territory. Of course, a great deal has been done to show that this notion of Ihe map as the impartial reporter is seriously flawed;42 still, the image holds fur much of the public. Philosophy could be imagined as a territory which has been mapped. Most uf Ihe world of philosophy rarely thinks about the fact that it has been mapped; II hus been internalized to the extent that a map is only needed when outside ur our "home" subdisciplines. Philosophers have given more attention to the mapping of philosophy when it comes to the jurisdiction of philosophy over "orne methods or content, or the assigning of methods or content to others. Hvcn when teaching first-year classes, we likely tell our students how what We are doing is not psychology, or theology, or science, even though at points philosophy resembles all of these and more. We know where the borders are, we know who the citizens are, and within the nation of philosophy, we know Ihe rules, customs, traditions, languages and local dialects. 43 It should not be a surprise, then, that Africans, who since at least the Enlightenment have been teld that they are not capable of generating coherent philosophical thought, would want membership in this country. This memberNhip either has to be earned (which some do by the usual channels), or it must he shown that Africans have been members all along. and that those who tlrew this map in the first place did not draw the lines inclusively enough. In It lime when real maps are, for the most part, increasingly fragmented, this map seems to be moving in the opposite direction. This process is all about space, at least metaphorically. African philosophy hlt/i a space in the world of philosophy, it has just not yet been recognized.

28

THE ARGUMENT OF THE BOOK Philosophy in an African Place is structured dialectically, recognizing the paradoxical argument I wish to make. The dialectic is between the concept of place itself and a set of concepts in African philosophy. In this introduction, I have tried to sketch out a schematic of place that I believe is useful in uncovering African philosophy. Then, for the bulk of the chapters, I consider a set of concepts within African philosophy which have been used "spatially" instead of "platially," that is, they have been used to establish and/or defend a territory known as "African Philosophy" rather than generate new concepts within African philosophy. The intention is not to reject those concepts, bm to redirect them. In the final chapter of the book I return to the question of the nature of place, with a new set of concepts provided by African philosophy, and consider what has been made available by the redirection of African philosophy.

•

30

Chapter 1

The move to establish the space of African philosophy has been the simultaneous move to establish borders, customs, gatekeepers, laws and citizenry. All this is behind the various attempts to answer the question "Is there an African philosophy?", even when that question is rejected as too simple or too insulting. The focus on space has played itself out in African philosophy as the search for a metaphysical grounding, a "first principle" that will establish the legitimacy of these borders and laws. Even if one argues that that principle has always been present, it has to be articulated in such a way that the rest of the philosophical world will recognize its legitimacy. It cannot simply be a claim or a will to power, not for this "country" to be truly part of the philosophical continent. One might not place much stock in the opinion of the rest of the world; nevertheless, the claim to or argument for space continues even for those who are just trying to work from "pure" African sources and develop thought which is relevant to Africa itself. Even these attempts (and I am thinking of some writers who develop philosophy out of the Ifa tradition, as well as some Kemetic philosophies) seem to require some prior sense of the purity of tradition, identity, culture, or language. Again, there is a metaphysical claim being made (or perhaps, uncritically assumed) that undergirds the research. One might say, so what? Aren't maps necessary? Yes, they are. However, the problem comes when we believe that maps are neutral tools, even in this metaphorical form, and that the result achieved can convince anyone that territory has been legitimately claimed. Maps are texts, they are tools, they are forms of knowledge that make possible some activities, and close off others. They fix and they inscribe, in a particular way, one which makes territory available under particular conditions. It is significant to consider the shift in the nature of maps between the modern and premodern eras. Before the modern Western impulse to exploration and colonization, maps tended to be records of significant places. They often did not record much water, for instance, because nothing happened there. They did not record mountains, except as places to avoid or as spaces of otherness, where gods dwelt (it is said that Petrarch was the first person who climbed a mountain just for its own sake). They were often circular, not to reflect the shape of the earth but to demonstrate a "wholeness," that this was all there was below the heavens. In short, to today's reader, they would not have looked very much like the territory they were meant to describe. And perhaps they were not intending to describe at all, at least, not the way we imagine description to take place. They were not reporting on the "objective" place, the place available to God or to a view from nowhere. The view was always in terms of human pursuits, even if those pursuits were of God. Now, maps are of God's pursuits, made possible through the auspices

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

31

Ill' scientific method (another mapping technique) and the universal pretense Ill' modern life. But those maps were reporting on some place, or places. In fact, they were I'~porting place, not space. They did not lay down an objective grid and just )lui in whatever happened to be there. They only put something in when it had human significance. As travel guides, they were probably not all that useful ttl ,lJIyone who did not already know the route (a traveler who did not know the route would have had to rely on talking to people along the way, another very human activity). As evocations of what human experience was like, of what was important, and of how the world was ordered, they were perhaps lIlore eloquent. African philosophy has proceeded as if it is drawing a modernist map. As I will argue, it has actually overlooked the local expression of significance III favor of answering the question "Is there an African philosophy?" in the ufl'irmative, and at the same time locating it both in terms of its internal inI~rcsts and its external references. This book is meant to try to ask a different IllIcstion. Rather than "Is there an African philosophy?", the guiding question will be "What is it to do philosophy in this placeT' So, the concepts in the central part of the book are ones which have been cundidates for a metaphysical anchor-point, that is, for the establishment und maintenance of spatial-philosophical maps. The first of these is tradition ("Tradition in the Periphery"). I consider Kwame Gyekye's discussion of tradition in Tradition and Modernity, noting its innovative character and limitations. "Questioning Reason," the next chapter, begins by expanding whut I have already said about mapping, and outlines various attempts at ~Ilnfiguring the field. I consider the central question in the field, the tension between universalism and particularism/relativism. This leads to considering lIume expressions of rationally ordering in the field: a conversation on "the I'ut ional path," some taxonomies of African philosophy. I finish by proposing lIume new questions about reason that might be more fruitful. In "Wisdom Is Actually Thought" I consider Odera Oruka's sage philosophy project as one which uses as its hinge a concept of critical reason inherent in truditional Africa. I argue that Oruka has explicitly responded to the spatial 'Iucslion ("is there an African philosophy?"), but that sage philosophy has the I(KIls to address the questions of place in African philosophy. "Culture and the Problem of Universality" begins by arguing against the Ideu that there is pure culture which can serve as a guarantee of the "'truly Afl'i":lm" half of the pairing. On the other side of the argument, I consider Kwasi Wlredu and Odera Oruka as exponents of "cultural universals," an attempt to Identify some element that would guarantee that African philosophy is part of lhe rest of the map of world philosophy.

32

Chapter I

"Listening to Language" considers those who locate unique philosophical thought in some aspect of language, First 1 address those who deal with language directly, such as Alexis Kagame. Second, I address exponents of the idea that proverbs could form the basis of African philosophy. Finally, I consider some issues raised by translation, as raised in part by Barry Hallen and I. O. Sodipo, and also by Wiredu. Finally, in "Practicality: African Philosophy's Debts and Duties," 1 address the often-heard injunction that African philosophy should be practicaL Many African philosophers are very committed to their practice as one which benefits the African, or African diaspora world. The relevance of philosophy is a constant theme, and might be seen as a kind of pragmatic grounding and mapping of African philosophy. This final chapter of the first section deals with the possibilities and limits of using philosophy's ability to work good in a community as its raison d' eire. None of these chapters intends to dismiss these concepts as irrelevant; in fact, quite the opposite. These are central and fundamental issues for African philosophy to engage. My intention is not to undermine them, but to undermine their essentialist, "mapping of space" function. 1 wish to retain the dynamic, creative nature of these concepts, as they transform themselves into adequate concepts for particular thought-lives, In the concluding chapter, 1 return to the fonns of place outlined earlier in this introduction, and use them to re-cast the various concepts discussed throughout the book. 1 argue that these concepts are crucial to a robust and creative African philosophy, and that thinking of concepts as having a place in the sense that I have outlined enables African philosophy to both remain true to the experience of Africans and also contribute something vital to other philosophical dialects.

NOTES I. Jacques Derrida, "Of the Humanities and the Philosophical Discipline: The Right to Philosophy from the Cosmopolitical Point of View (the Example of an International Institution)," Surfaces IV, 310 Folio 1 (1994), MontreaL www.pum. umontreaLcairevues/surfaces/vol4/derridaa.html (December 22, 2008). 2. Randall Collins, The Sociology of Philo,wphies: A Global Theory of I ntellectual Change (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1998). 3. Kai Kresse, "Towards an 'Anthropology of Philosophy"; The Ethnography of Critical Discourse and Intellectual Practice in Africa," in Philosophising in Mombasa: Knowledge, Islam and Intellectual Practice on the Swahili Coast (Edinburgh, Scotland: Edinburgh University Press, 2007). 4, Kenneth Baynes, James Bohman, and Thomas McCarthy. After Philosophy: End or Transformation? (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1987).

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

33

5. Jeffrey Malpas, Place and Experience: A Philosophical Topography (Cambridge, Mass.: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 6. Godwin Sogolo, Foundations of African Philosophy: A Definitive Analysis I{ Conceptual Issues in African Thought (Ibadan, Nigeria: Ibadan University Press, 11)l)3), xi. 7. See "Research on Place and Space" at http://pegasus.cc.ucf.edu/-janzb/place/ K Many examples of work on place could be given in geography; a very seleclive few might include: John A. Agnew and James Duncan, eds. The Power of Place lIIuston: Unwin Hyman, 1989); David Black, Donald Kunze, and John Pickles, eds. e'mllmonplaces: Essays on the Nature of Place (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1989); Nicholas J. Entrikin. The Betweenness of Place: Towards A Geogral,lly of Modernity (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991); Relph, Edward. "lua and Placelessness (London: Pion, 1976); Yi-Fu Tuan, Space and Place: The "!'I'.I'pective of Experience (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1977). 9. The discussion of place in architecture includes (among many others): Karsten Ilurries, The Ethical Function of Architecture (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1997); Hobert Mugerauer, 111Ierpretations on Behalf of Place: Environmental Displacements (llid Alternative Responses (Albany, N.Y.: SUNY Press, 1994); Christian NorbergSdlUiz, Architecture: Meaning alld Place (New York: Rizzoli, 1988) (among many nlllCrs of Norberg-Schulz's); David Seamon and Robert Mugerauer, Dwelling, Place, (II/l/ Environment: Toward a Phenomenology of Person and World (New York: CoIUlllbia University Press, 1985); T. ThUs-Evensen, Archetypes in Architecture (Oslo: SCllndinavian University Press, 1987); F. VioIich, The Bridge to Dalmatia: A Search ./ill" the Meaning of Place (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1998). 10. See, for example. William Cronon, ed., Uncommon Ground: Rethinking the lIuman Place in Nature (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1996); Edward Mooney, ed. Wilderness alld the Heart: Henry Bugbee's Philosophy of Place, Pres!'/In', and Memory (Athens, Ga.: University of Georgia Press, 1999); David Rothenberg. ed. Wild Ideas (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1995); Max OelNchlllgcr, The Idea ofWilderness: From Prehistory to the Age ofEcology (New Haven, ('\lI1I1.: Yale University Press, 1991). II. Marc Auge, Non-Places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity (I,!JItdon and New York:: Verso Books, ] 995); Keith Basso, Wisdom Sits in Places (Albuquerque, N.Mex.: University of New Mexico, 1996); Eric Hirsch and Michael O'llunlon, eds. The Anthropology of Landscape: Perspectives an Place and Space «(hllord, England: Clarendon Press, 1995); James Weiner, The Empty Place: Poetry, ,\'jld(,(!, and Being among the Fo; of Papua New Guinea (Bloomington: Indiana UniVIHNity Press, ]991). J 2. Victor Burgin, In/Different Spaces: Place and Memory in Visual Culture (Hcrkeiey, Calif.: University of Califomi a Press, 1996); Madeleine Grynsztejn, About flue!' (Chicago: Art Institute of Chicago, 1995); Lucy Lippard, The Lure of the Local: ,\'I'tI,\'es of Place in a Multicentered Society (New York: The New Press, 1997). D. J. P. Bourdieu and N. Alsayyad, eds. Dwellings, Settlements and Traditions: ('/tj,r.f-Cultural Perspectives (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1989); Kim I>!IVCY, Framing Places (London: Routledge, 1999); James Duncan and David Ley,

Chapter I

Introduction: Philosophy-in-Place

eds. Place/CulturelRepresentation (New York: Routledge, 1993)~ William Vitek and Wes Jackson, cds. Rooted in the Land: Essays on Community and Place (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1996). 14. John Barrell, The idea of Landscape and the Sense of Place 1730-/840: An Approach to the Poetry of John Clare (Cambridge, Mass.: Cambridge University Press, 1972); Robeno M. DianoUo, Place in Literature: Regions, Cultures, Communities (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2000); Deborah Lou Keahey, Making It Home: Place in Canadian Prairie Literature (Winnipeg, Manitoba: University of Manitoba Press, 1998); Tim Lilburn, Living in the World as If It Were Home: Essays (Dunvegan, Onlario: Cormorant Books, 1999); Kent C. Ryden, Mapping the Invisible Landscape: Folklore, Writing and the Sense of Place (Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1993); Wallace Stegner and Page Stegner. American Places (New York: Dutton, 1981). 15. David Canter, The Psychology of Place (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1977); Michael Godkin, "Identity and Place: Clinical Applications Based on Notions of Rootedness and Uprootedness," in The Human Experience of Space and Place, cd. Anne Buttimer and David Seamon (London: Croom Helm, 1980: 73-85); Allan Pred, "Structuration and Place: On the Becoming of Sense of Place and Structure of Feeling." Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour 13 (1983): 45-68; David Seamon, "A Way of Seeing People and Place: Phenomenology in Environment-Behavior Research," in Theoretical Perspectives in Environment-Behavior Research, ed. S. Wapner, J. Demick, T. Yamamoto, and H. Minami (New York: Plenum, 2000), 157-78. 16. Herb Childress, Landscapes of Betrayal, Landscapes of Joy: Curtisville in the Lives of its Teenagers (Albany, N.Y.: SUNY Press, 2000); M. L. Million, "It Was Home": A Phenomenology of Place and Involuntary Displacement as Illustrated by the Forced Dislocation of Five Southern Alberta Families in the Oldman River Dam Flood ,4rea. Doctoral dissertation (Saybrook Institute Graduate School and Research Center, San Francisco, 1992); Ray Oldenburg, The Great Good Place: Cafes, Coffee Shops, Community Centers, Beauty Pariors, General Stores, Bars, Hangouts, and How They Get You Through the Day (New York: Paragon House, 1989); G. L. Pocius, A Place to Belong: Community Order and Everyday Space in Calvert, Neuifoundland (Athens, Ga.: University of Georgia Press, 1991); Witold Rybczynski, Home: A Short History of an Idea (New York: Viking, 1986). 17. Although this, of course, does not prejudge the question of philosophy's own origins. 18. Edward Casey, The Fate of Place: A Philosophical History (Berkeley, Calif.: University of Califomia Press, 1997). 19. See also Pauli Tapani Karjalainen and Pauline von Bonsdorff, eds., Place and Embodiment (Saarijaarvi, Finland: University of Helsinki Lahti Research and Training Centre, 1997). 20. Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1984). See especially 117ff. 21. Joseph Grange, "Place, Body, and Situation" in David Seamon and Robert Mugerauer, Dwelling, Place, and Environment: Toward a Phenomenology of Person and World (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985), 71-84.

22. Jeffrey Malpas, Place and Experience: A Philosophical Topography (Camhridge, Mass.: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 23. Bruce Janz, "Whistler's Fog and the Aesthetics of Place," Reconstructions NJlccial edition ("Rhetoric of Place," Michael Benton, ed.) 5, no. 3 (Summer 2005). hap:llreconstruction.eserver.org/053/janz.shtml (December 22, 2008). 24. Barry Lopez, ,4rctic Dreams: Imagination and Desire in a Northern Landscape (New York: Random House, 1986), 25. Lucy Lippard, The Lure of the Local: Senses of Place in a Multicentered Socirty (New York: The New Press, 1997). 26. Robert Sack, Homo Geographicus: A Framework for Action, Awareness and Moral Concern (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1997). 27. Martin Heidegger, "Building Dwelling Thinking" in Heidegger, Poetry, LanNI/IIge, Thought. Trans. A. Hofstadter (New York: Harper & Row, 1971). 28. David Welchman Gegeo, "Cultural Rupture and lndigeneity: The Challenge III' (Re)visioning 'Place' in the Pacific." The Contemporary Pacific 13, no. 2 (Fall 20(1): 491-507. 29. Nancy Mairs, Remembering the Bone House: An Erotics of Place and Space (New York: Harper & Row, 1989; Beacon Press, 1995), 30. This is the argument in Joshua Meyrowitz, No Sense of Place: The Impact of /:l,'crIYJllic Media on Social Behaviour (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press,

34

35

IllK5). " J. Keith Basso, "Wisdom Sits in Places: Notes on a Western Apache Landscape," III Sleven Feld and Keith H. Basso, Senses of Place (Santa Fe, N.Mex.: School of

American Research Press, 1996). 32. James Weiner, The Empty Place: Poetry, Space, and Being among the Foi of /'tI[lIW New Guinea (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991), 33, Sec Jane Howarth, "In Praise of Backyards: Toward a Phenomenology of l'lnce." www.lancs.ac.ukldepts/philosophy/awaymave/onlineresourceslin%20praise '/f,2I1of%20backyards,pdf (December 22, 2008), .44. Michael Keith and Steve Pile, Place and the Politics of Identity (New York: Noulledge, ] 993), 6. ]5. Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life (Berkeley. Calif.: University IIf Clilifomia Press, 1984), 117. Jb. Geoffrey Lilburne, A Sense of Place: A Christian Theology of the Land (Nashville, Tenn,: Abingdon Press, 1989). .17. See Bruce Chatwin. The Songfines (London: Penguin Books, 1987); Fred Myers, Pintupi Country, Pintupi Self: Sentiment, Place, and Politics Among Western lJC',m·t Aborigines (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1991). ,lH. Eduardo Mendieta, "The City and the Philosopher: On the Urbanism of PheIlCIIllcnology." Philosophy and Geography 4, no. 2 (2001): 203-218. :19. Or, maybe superior-see Gail Presbey, "Ways in which Oral Philosophy is Hurlerior to Written Philosophy." APA Newsletter: Philosophy and the Black Experi· "/1'1'. 96, no. I (1999). 40. It may seem contradictory to say this at the beginning of a book on the imporIIIIL:C of place, but as I will argue, we have too narrow a conception of place much

36

Chapler I

of the time. In a ccrtain sense, it always matters where we write from. My only point here is that writing on the continent does not in itself grant any special authority, as if there is unique access to a "pure" object." The notion of purity will come under scrutiny in chapter 4. 41. One might argue that works such as D. A. Masolo's African Philmophy in Search of Identity does exactly this, but in fact its purpose is to give an overview of significant texts and to place them in a narrative, a task which the book carries out quite well. Masolo docs engage in some textual critique in the process, but it is relatively limited. Perhaps only the works of V. Y. Mudimbe have been analyzed in the manner I mean here, as work whose philosophical value is located somewhere other than on the most superficial level. 42. See, for example, Denis Wood and John Fels, The Power of Maps (New York: Guilford Press, 1992). 43. There was a story reported in (sadly defunct) Lingua Franca about a mysterious wealthy person who paid large sums of money to attract some philosophers to review a manuscript in speculative metaphysics. The writer of the article eventually figured out who this person was, and it came out that one of the reasons for this ruse was that he had tried to publish his manuscript through regular channels, but was told that he didn't have the proper credentials. He was frustrated that, in effect, he wasn't a citizen of the philosophical world, but thought that he had something to contribute anyway.

Chapter Two

Tradition in the Periphery

More than any other concept in African philosophy, tradition has been seen central, if only in the extent of its use. Writers use "traditional" and "tradilion" in connection with a whole range of concepts, and for the most part II simply serves as a distinguishing marker to differentiate what goes on in Alrica (particularly rural Africa) from what goes on in the West, or in areas Ilifluenced by the West. In some cases, it is that which is left after rational defense for action has been exhausted. For others, it is that which any ratiol1ul defense must ultimately appeal to. Sometimes tradition exists in tension with values such as modernity, progressiveness, or contemporaneousness. At Its worst, the term is little more than a somewhat more benign form of the "primitive" label so loved by anthropologists in the first half of the twentieth I:cntury. But what is it at its best? The question of the nature of tradition is something that has perhaps had lIIore attention outside of philosophy in Africa than inside, especially in Illerature. One could point to any number of novelists, poets, or storytellers who are concerned with charting the encounter between various aspects uf tradition and whatever its alternative is conceived to be, whether that is modernity, urbanism, Western ism, or post-colonialism. While this chapter IN about the explicit treatment of tradition in philosophy, it is worth at least noting that a useful and interesting philosophical study could be made of Ihe work of such writers as Grace Ogot, Bessie Head, Buchi Emecheta, ('hinua Achebe, Nadine Gordimer, and many others, and the ways in which Ihcy show forth the place(s) in which concepts come to have currency_ Sam Imho gives a good picture of how this might be done in his work on Okot p' Bilek, Oral Traditions as Philosophy: Okot p' Bitek's Legacy for African Plti/omphy. . liS

]7

39

Chapter 2

Tradition in the Periphery

The most extensive reflection on the concept of tradition in African philosophy is Kwame Gyekye's Tradition and Modernity,! although there are some briefer contributions (e.g., lean-Marie Makang,2 Samuel Onyango Ayany). The relative lack of reflection within African philosophy on this central topic mirrors the lack of discussion of tradition in philosophy in general. It seems to be taken for granted that it functions as an oppositional term to modernity, and it brings to mind other parallel oppositions: static and dynamic, conservative and progressive, cultural and rational. If the reference to anthropology of times past is correct, we might also add "primitive and advanced" to this list. But simply listing pairs of terms does not tell us much about how the term functions within African philosophy, nor does it necessarily make clear the points of tension, or what the term covers up, or what it makes possible for the philosopher. That will be the task of this chapter.

industrial and urbanized." He traces the distinction in part to the sociological distinction between the urban and the rural. It is this contrast which Gyekye argues is based on false assumptions. There is change in the traditional society, however slow that may be, and in I'uet every society must change at least to some extent. The static nature of the "traditional," he argues, along with the resultant opposition to modernity, is overstated, a position he holds in agreement with lean-Marie Makang (325). AlId, modern societies certainly recognize traditions as relevant and as posilive aspects rather than as obstacles to development (218), These false assumptions, though, only point to the fact that we need to reIhi nk the term. To do this, some excavation of recent uses of "tradition" are in Imler. The term preserves part ofthe Latin root, traditum, in making reference III that which is handed down from the past. The "past," moreover, must not "imply be the recent past, but is something that has endured through generaIluns (219). How many generations are needed is an open question. Gyekye (i1l agreement with Edward Shils) settles on at least three generations. The puint of arguing for a length of at least three generations is to distinguish Inluition from other cultural artifacts such as fashion. Tradition, for Gyekye, IN culture that lasts. Hut why does it last? Not necessarily because of some intrinsic merit, but ruther because it is found useful by succeeding generations. The transmisNibility of tradition does not owe to the intentions or wishes of any preceding IIIcl1eration, nor to something intrinsic to tradition itself. Those who appropriIItc the past are the real makers of tradition. Having said this, presumably tradition would not be adopted unless there was something perceived as Villuable by those later generations. Even though traditions may have "defects or imperfections" (223), they may still appeal to someone, and therefore be &:urried on. So, Gyekye is arguing for a kind of pragmatist account of tradition. At the IUllle time, though, his method of conceptual analysis seems to indicate that he thinks there is a kind of metaphysical reality to tradition. While it is maintulned by the choices of people (choices which do not always rely on very ",Icar thinking), once the choice is made, there is something real that exists. It also follows, although he does not emphasize it here, that tradition neces.lIrily occurs because appropriation necessarily occurs. Even those societies Ihut see themselves as having made a positive break with the past (Renais_II lice, Enlightenment) are simply appropriating different parts of the past thun they would see their forebears as wanting them to appropriate. Gyekye .rli\ues against Eric Hobsbawm's and Terence Ranger's notion of an "invented trudition"] on the grounds that if people believe something to be a tradition oven though it is of recent origin, they are just mistaken, or they are tuning in

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GYEKYE ON TRADITION Gyekye's Tradition and Modernity is, in a way, the most explicit treatment of an attitude to tradition that he has exemplified in the rest of his work. The issue he faces, simply put, is this: How is it possible to take cultural specificity, especially that which shows some endurance, as philosophically interesting? He is aware, as are most philosophers in this field, that it is no mean feat to walk the knife edge between a universalist philosophy that would reduce the specifics of culture to ephemera on the one hand, and a particularist philosophy that would reduce the rationality, moral force, and transmissibility of culture to a mere dream on the other. He finds his answer in the concept of tradition, unlike someone like Paulin Hountondji, for example, who is generally dismissive of tradition as playing any part in philosophical development (although, certainly, it is not without its interest for other reasons). For Gyekye, tradition holds the hope of offering something rational to African society which might address recurring problems. The problem, he thinks, is that there are incoherent versions of tradition extant which allow . various philosophers to dismiss tradition as philosophically uninteresting, . and Gyekye's task in Tradition and Modernity, especially in chapter 8, is to analyze the concept so that it is clear just how it can contribute to African philosophy. Specifically, the opposition between "tradition" and "modernity" suggests that there are some societies that maintain and cherish "values, practices, outlooks, and institutions bequeathed ... by previous generations and all or much of which on normative grounds it takes pride in, boasts of, and builds on," and there are some which do not (217). The modem, on the other hand, is "scientific, innovative, future oriented, culturally dynamic, and

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to something about that tradition that has a much longer lineage than that. An invention cannot be a tradition, and a tradition cannot be an invention. The role of the appropriating generation is more than that of simply preserving some practice. Critical examination must als.o occur, sin~e tra~ition exerts a regulative influence on the life of people. It IS therefore m the mterests of those who have the power of appropriation to reflect on what should be included. While tradition necessarily is passed down in one way or another, given that no one can create a form of life ex nihil~ (he argues ag~i~st cultural revolutions on these grounds as well), the neceSSIty of some tradItIon does not mean that we cannot critique and choose among the various aspects of tradition before us. It is therefore the task of the philosopher to provide a reasoned critique, so that those within a tradition can adopt the best aspects and leave the worst behind. From here Gyekye moves on to consider the various factors that playa part in cultural change. Following Shils, he recognizes both external and internal factors. He argues (contrary to what many other African philosophers seem to assume) that there is no such thing as a pure tradition, and that cultures develop in conversation with other cultures. The question is not whether a culture is pure, but what kind of conversations have produced the current state of things. He argues that there is an "adaptive capacity" (224) that cultures have to a greater or lesser degree, which enables them to adopt e,,~ments of different cultures, as well as the ability to critique and change tradItiOnS from the inside. While cultures are engaged in a variety of conversations, and their present is shaped not only by their conversation with their own past (appropriation) but also with all the historical and present encounters with other cultures (borrowing), this does not mean that tradition fragments unrecognizably. There is still a tradition within any particular culture, its coherence guaranteed by the fact that the elements have been adopted, for whatever reason. and are functioning within that culture. . ' There are two extreme positions, Gyekye argues, that descnbe the attItude of philosophers toward tradition. The "revivalists" (e.g., N. K. Dzobo) argue that it is only in tradition that Africa will find salvation. The past should be researched and as much as possible. adopted. The "anti-revivalists" (e.g., Paulin Hounto~dji, Marcien Towa), on the other hand, argue that Africa's. salvation lies in the abandonment of tradition as much as possible, and the move toward rational, scientific modernity. It is tradition that has held Africa? • society back, and to the extent we have control over it, we should expunge It . from our beliefs and practices. . Gyekye believes that each of these positions oversimplifies the situatio~, and that they furthermore both do so in a similar manner. Each reduces tradI-

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lioll to one aspect, in one case the best and the other case the worst. Gyekye nrgues that we need not take everything or nothing, but rather have the ability to assess various aspects of tradition and decide what to adopt. As evidence of this stance, he moves on to list what he thinks is counterproductive and what, in his opinion, is worth keeping. The first list turns out to be considerubly longer than the second. It includes attitudes that detract from scientific IlIuJ technological advancement (in agreement with Hountondji, who he curlier excoriated for his anti-revivalist stance), as well as limitations in comnlllilitarian social organization and the excessive reliance on ancestors. The positive features include "the enjoyment of the human being," as evidenced In art and language and the humanist (as opposed to supernatural) nature of Mrican morality. Ciyekye recognizes that it is one thing to give a list of features, and it is IIlIother to give some idea of the criteria that can help assess tradition in Alcncral. The final portion of his discussion of tradition attempts to give such criteria. The two he identifies as crucial are "the fundamental nature of a set of pristine values and attitudes and the functionality of past ideas and institutiulls in the setting of the present" (260). In other words, are there values that IU'C fundamental and abiding ("perennial," if you wish) that must be present I'lli' a society to properly function, and can we identify aspects of the past that IIccm to survive and flourish in the present? The first is a conceptual analysis, luuJ the second a pragmatic one. Both allow a selective appropriation of the pust and, as it turns out, a selective appropriation from other cultures as well l'uI1kularly Western modernity. '

THE USES OF TRADITION Oyckye's analysis, even though it positions itself over against what it takes tu he the rest of the field, is in many ways typical of the use of the concept by most African philosophers. It is rare, in fact, to find many African phihlNophers willing to completely reject tradition, or completely advocate a ""lUrn to it. This typical account, though, leaves many questions unanswered, hcljinning with the question of the usefulness of tradition for African phiIUliuphers. Tradition, whatever else it does, functions as a foundational tenn for much Al'rkun philosophy, delimiting the scope of the field while at the same time 1I1llking possible the definition of a methodology within those limits. When philosophers use the tenn, they usually refer not to "tradition," but the "tra"!tlona/," They use the tenn to designate a certain kind of society, usually hI Inquire about an idea or .set of ideas that is taken as more or less clear in

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a modern setting, but in need of explication in the "traditional" setting. So, there are articles about the notion of the person, democracy, communalism, freedom, and other philosophical notions within the traditional setting. Historically in the West, tradition is contrasted with reason. This goes further back, and is part of the conversation among theologians. "What is passed down" (rradere) circumvents reason. In the Middle Ages, reason was seen as suspect by some, because the conclusions of reason were unpredictable. Ironically, Peter Lombard wrote Sic et Non, which also showed that the conclusions of tradition were equally unpredictable, and tradition needed reason to guide it. It was not until the beginning of the modem age, though, that the contrast passes from guarding against the relativism of reason, to guarding against the arbitrariness of the past. With the dawn of modernity, tradition progressively is seen as "that which is unexamined." Where previously we might be able to debate about the means we use to arrive at our moral ends, for instance, the moral ends themselves were beyond debate. No longer in the modern age. Within African philosophy the "traditional" is mainly used to designate a set of practices that differ from modem. So, for example, Makinde writes about "traditional medicine," Oruka inquires about "traditional wisdom." F. U. Okafor and Olufemi Taiwo talk of the "African legal tradition." Others refer to "traditional thought" (sometimes as distinct from philosophy, sometimes as a conceptual distinction that allows the question to be raised about whether African "thought" is philosophy), "traditional psychology," "traditional African aesthetics," and so forth. "Traditional" sometimes refers to people rather than practices. Oruka talks about the "traditional African sages." Others refer to the "traditional healers," or "traditional chiefs." These uses seem to indicate a place in a social structure. What makes a traditional African sage different from some other kind of sage, particularly a modem sage? Presumably that this person draws on a , particular body of knowledge or experience, and this person is recognized by a particular community as being a sage. Calling an individual "traditional," then, is a way of referring to the practices that person follows. People are traditional because of their practices, on this conventional reading; practices are not traditional because of the people that engage in them. "Tradition" is sometimes used to designate a set of practices that have a history. For example, some writers talk about a "moral tradition," and others discuss whether there is a "tradition of democracy" in African communities . of the past. Tradition, though, is not history, nor is history tradition, except within certain specific assumptions of modernity. The two are conflated, often to simultaneously draw on temporal priority and social value. Thus, someone might want to argue that American is a "Christian" nation, by whiCh they

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mean something about the desires of the founders (and there are attempts to IlUllport this historically) and also about a set of values that "real" Americans Ilhould just recognize and find resonant (making these values traditional). The significance of the difference between history and tradition should 1101 be overlooked. Even African philosophers sometimes conflate the two (Musolo, in his analysis of Anyany, despite many trenchant observations, muves back and forth between the two), as if any relationship with the past Ihlll we might have can be called either tradition or history. In fact, though, Ihe two rarely function the same way. In fact, we could imagine history as lluIIC traditionally, or in a modem way, and we could imagine tradition in which history is knowll, and tradition in which history is very indistinct or I:!ouded. One way to make the distinction is that history tends to be related to events and people, while tradition tends to be related to meanings and values "" cnded in ritual and story. Of course these two cannot be taken apart, as if history has nothing to do with meaning and tradition always deals in anonymity, but the key is to recognize that the two differ, and their functions differ. It is, of course, possible to make tradition a moment of history (as I argue he low), but that comes at a price. African philosophers have fairly clear patterns of use for the term. But it is nile thing to chronicle its use, and another to suggest how the term functions, m what role it serves for those who use it. There are several overlapping posIIlhilities. For example,

I. Tradition might propose solutions to contemporary problems that have resisted analysis in other ways. Gyekye, for example, tries to address the problem of corruption in African societies by showing that it was a moral problem in traditional societies (rather than a technical or social-scientific one, as in modem societies), and therefore is in need of a moral solution. 2. Tradition might be used to establish the identity of the members, implicitly against a dominating metanarrative (like that of a colonizer). It serves LIS a unifying point against the dissipating tendencies of modernity. 3. Tradition can also serve a unifying function in another way, not as a rl111ying point against the "other," but as a way of collectively referring 1o what might otherwise be seen as a disparate group of beliefs and practices. For example, "traditional African thought seeks unity through interiorization and interlinkage."4 4. Trudition might be used to avoid the negative implications of reason as a foundational element. Sometimes tradition functions as a way of halting critique-governments have invoked tradition, for example, as a hedge against rational (or even simply partisan) critique of their own policies or I1ctivities.

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5. Tradition might serve to establish a sense of continuity with a past to which European thought has no access, and over which it therefore has no formative influence. 6. Tradition might establish a link to diverse existing communities outside of Western (modernist) influence. Diasporas are seen to be bound together by tradition (and sometimes, little else), 7. Tradition might justify or legitimate a current life-world. It might be used to justify the status quo by arguing that it is rooted in past practices and should not be changed indiscriminately. 8. Tradition can serve to justify a conservative world-view. If modernity implies progress, and one does not like the direction progress is taking, it is easy to invoke trddition as a value that curbs change. 9. Tradition might be used to justify certain specific claims (e.g., land claims, use of cultural property), which might be embedded in an overall cultural defense, but which might not. 10. Tradition might serve to equate scientific reason with African thought, by arguing that not only does Africa have tradition (which uses its own internally defined standards of reason), but science is exactly the same (that is, it also has tradition that has internally defined rationality). 11. Tradition might be a way of learning about resistance to dominating structures. One writer points out that many traditions employ "tactics" rather than "strategy" for survival: , .. by carefully observing the tactics of tradition, valuable lessons can be learned regarding what might be called practical resistance-lessons in how to be oppositional in such a way as to challenge the dominant tendencies of the present without being destroyed by them. 5 Clearly, tradition is potentially a very useful concept What is more, the uses of the term can in some cases be diametrically opposed to each other. Some uses promote societal change, for example, while others resist it. Some promote a more closed attitude to those outside the tradition, while others promote a more open attitude. Some promote dialogue by establishing the grounds on which dialogue might take place, while others resist dialogue by suggesting that tradition is relatively inaccessible by those outside of it. The . diversity of uses (and the above list is by no means a complete catalogue) may actually indicate that we do not have a single concept at work here, but an ecology of related concepts. This might seem to suggest that we are in need of a definition of the term. Definitions, however, tend to be abstract, and so tend to ignore the actual contexts of understanding for a term. Particularly for a term such as tradition, it is worth resisting the impulse to essentialize. I am more interested in

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determining what would be required for an understanding of tradition. There is a reason for starting with the question of the uses of tradition instead of the dclinition. It serves to root the concept in a particular set of practices and in II particular kind of discussion. Pragmatism is surely correct about the need In contextuaiize concepts. This point is worth making particularly because of the tendency of some writers to make tradition into a metaphysical concept. Gyekye certainly approaches it this way; he is chiefly concerned with differentiating the concept fmm related ones such as culture, defining how long a concept has to be pussed down in order for it to become a tradition, and argues that there can be /10 such thing as an "invented tradition." Treating this concept as a metaphysi1.'/11 entity certainly seems to solve some problems. For one, if there really is NlII.:h a thing as tradition, it allows us to continue distinguishing between types nl' societies. African thought has a "real" source, which allows us to at least hupe for a space on the map of the world of philosophy. Nevertheless, treating tradition from a metaphysical point of view has the Mume problem that has dogged metaphysics for this entire century and, indeed, long before. Our ability to access and know that reality cannot proceed without taking into account the nature of our inquiry into the concept itself. This is more than just a request for identifying an initial point of view. Conct'ptual analysis intended to reveal the true essences of concepts ironically "ives us much less than the concept itself. It can give us only what conceptual ullulysis allows-a concept that is separated from the inquirer, that is separulcd from the uses it has in its context, and that is separated from any real IIhilily to critique it. It hides behind a facade of neutrality, whereas in fact it 1M I)cing used for an end, by people with agendas and projects, in a social conleltl Ihat allows certain implications and suppresses others, for a situation that nmyor may not be able to recognize itself in the analysis. In short, conceptual 1Ill11ysis itself has a history, has a politics, and cannot be considered a neutral wny of doing philosophy. My comments about metaphysics are not intended to suggest that we abanunll all conceptual analysis, but rather to point out that a method that is unaware of its own implications is liable to simply reproduce results that it does nul want. But what other options do we have? It is instructive to notice what Uyekye's analysis cannot account for. Take Hobsbawm and Ranger's book, '1'111' Invention o/Tratiition,6 for example. Gyekye reads their argument to be Ilying that traditions can just be made up. He correctly points out that nothing ",mnes from thin air, and if something is a tradition it had an origin in practice ur belief somewhere, and jf it is invented it never did, and therefore is not a Irlldition. But the fact is, people still recognize things as being traditions even Ihuugh "objective" research might show a very recent origin. Gyekye the

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metaphysician starts from what is real, irrespective of how tradition is apprehended or understood. But it is possible to start from what someone actually thinks; after all, philosophy since Kant has recognized that it is impossible to get to the real except through the experienced. So, tradition is perceived to have force and reality, despite the "fact" of recent origins. It seems clear that we need to take into account that we are inquiring about the nature of a human activity, from the standpoint of being human. We cannot pretend to stand back from tradition as if we were not involved in it, implicated in its processes and outcomes, and a product of its logic and whims. To speak in these terms seems to reify tradition, and again fall into metaphysical inquiry. Does tradition have whims or logic? Is tradition not either our product (in which case we can define it through conceptual analysis), or we are its product (in which case it has a larger existence than any individual)? These options again push us into a dichotomy in which the only two solutions are metaphysical ones. But there is more to contextualizing this particular concept than just identifying its uses. We might, for example, ask about its associations. Tradition is a concept with a provenance, specifically, a Western provenance. What we today call "traditional" societies often did not have an operative concept of tradition themselves, even if they do have well developed ways of accounting for the relationship between the past and the present. To apply or deploy the term "tradition" means to treat it as a concept outside of the realm of tradition itself, for it is used to designate a social force that can be put alongside other social forces. If we choose the traditions we want, or use tradition for specific purposes, they are no longer traditions, but merely the simulacra of traditions, Tradition makes sense only counterposed to modernity. If you are a "traditional" group that has no need for that opposition, the concept of tradition makes little sense. The concept of tradition in the West has a set of connotations that may not align very easily with the way the past is understood in these so-called "traditional" societies. Almost everyone who discusses the term points out its Latin roots as "tradere" and "tradition," a passing down or handing down. But that etymological nugget does not tell us why the term gained prominence. It emerged in the Christian West, as a way of establishing the tie between an ever-receding locus of authority and the present. How could a religion that recognized the interpreted character of its texts, the multiple· social settings in which it was applicable, and the translatability of its concepts manage to retain coherence? One might rely on dogma, of course, but that just pushes the problem back one step. Why this dogma rather than that, especiaUy in a world where cultural and intellectual variation was prized? The answer was to recognize an authoritative tie between the origin of the

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religion and the present, which made the set of doctrines extant at any given tillle coherent. Tradition justified dogma at a time when the lines of faith and reason had not been clearly negotiated. 7 And, when faith and reason reached I'IIpprochement. it was by showing that tradition was the foundation of reason nl\ along. Abelard's Sic et Non notwithstanding, the majority attitude toward Irudition before the modem era was that it was an essential part of reason. So, once tradition fell into disrepute, beginning with Hobbes and Descartes, but especially in the Enlightenment, its custodian again became religion, which Ilceded a hedge against the "free-thinking" of the day. The attacks against I'cligion again pitted reason against faith, and again tradition served as an asHurance that the church would remain. S With the rediscovery of history in nineteenth-century Germany. tradition IlIkes on a different role. It becomes the collection of stories that form the march to the present. Interest in folk tales, stories, archaeology, linguistics. phi lology. and other "historical" sciences became much greater at this time. 'Ii'adition became history; what has always been done, and therefore has an Ilulhoritative force that can withstand unsituated reason, becomes objectifiublc, folded into the domain of reason. The price reason paid for this marriage IN that it had to take history seriously, that is, it could not continue with the lfIusion of its own transcendence over time; the price tradition paid is that it IN turned into history. that is, the practices and beliefs that held authoritative force all by themselves become externalized as objects of scrutiny, Once tradition becomes history, it is easier to find a different oppositiunul term for it. Whereas previously tradition and reason were in tension, IIUW tradition and modernity became the terms to negotiate, Indeed, traditlun takes on all the marks of a Hegelian Aufhebung-it is something that needed to exist at a particular time, but it also needed to be overcome. We 1:'lIlDot understand ourselves without it, but it is exactly the marker that .huws us just how far we have come. Traditional medicine may be efficacious, but it is not explanatory. Ultimately it has to succumb to mechanistic Ii~ience. It is no accident that pre-1940s anthropology could slide so easily Inlo talking about the "primitive." Given this account of tradition in the West, one might ask whether the concepl has any real use to the African philosopher. Is there an origin of thought thllt the philosopher is trying to preserve against the attack of reason? It is nul clear that there is. Invoking tradition as a cultural value also invokes the hltilory of a specific, historically situated debate. While terms are certainly nul reducible either to their etymological roots or to their early applications, .t the same time these things are not irrelevant either. They may indicate just whlll must be overcome in order to use a concept in a new setting, and what an unreflective use of a concept is liable to overlook.

Chapter 2

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One might object that there must be an analogous concep~ in .some "tr~­ ditional" (we cannot avoid using the term) context, and brmgmg up thIS history only obscures what people in these cultures already know-th~t those that went before, their beliefs and practices, are to be taken seriously. The problem is that, while this may be true, the use of the term ~till brings up a history of debate that the African philos?ph~r mus~ take mto account somehow. Perhaps in some cases the solutIOn IS to simply use one of these analogous terms in un translated form, if they exist; yet, the problem will not be substantially solved eve~ with this measu~e. ~hether "tradition" is used explicitly or not, SUPpOSlOg that we can ldentlfy the cultures that have a "pure" version of the term already imbeds the Western

Now, is this a function of the similarity of living "traditionally," or is it just a function of the opposition to a dominant metanarrative? It might be that the strategy of discourse about traditionality is to adopt what has been Nuccessful, and distance oneself from what is unpopular. The interesting thing Is that "what is unpopular" is also unpopular to many within Western culture, lind also unpopular to many within other types of resistance philosophy. Few Nccm to have much use for reductionism anymore. Few seem to like excesHivc abstraction, especially when directly dealing with human individuals or Nllcieties. This is true of feminism, of critiques of class privilege, ethnic and nu.:ial privilege, and so forth around the world. And, it is true of the more currcnt trends in Western philosophy as well. In other words, "traditional" may l'uver over the real difference of these systems from each other, as well as the pussibility that these systems might take up aspects of the "dominant" system rulher than simply critiquing them. If this is true, though, then the notion of the traditional seems to simply he a blanket term for what does not fit in the oppositional category. To some extent, this should come as no surprise. What is surprising is that the tenn continues to be used in African philosophy. A cynical view might be that the cUllcept has just not been sufficiently theorized, but I think that there is something useful about it, despite the potential problems. Paul Ricoeur addressed the question of tradition in Time and Narrative. 9 lie distinguishes between "traditionality," or the form of the relationship hetween our understanding and the past, and "tradition," or the content of Ihllt relationship. The first, he argues, is a "transcendental for thinking about history" (219-220), and applies to the way that we are affected by the past, While the second is contingent on cultures themselves. Ricoeur's specific goal III making this distinction is to effect a rapprochement between Gadamer and I'ubermas, so that Gadamer's notion of tradition can continue to have force despite its critique by communicative rationality, which is that no thorough,ning questioning of rational structures can take place if we are always Already imbedded in tradition. We are always caught up in traditionality, Micoeur maintains (following Gadamer), but we are not necessarily caught up Illuny particular tradition, thus enabling the critique of traditions themselves (following Habermas), including ones that undergird our rational accounts of Ihe world. Will this distinction help us here? Will we in fact be able to see traditionalII)' us transcendental, and therefore allow it to serve as a guarantee of not only Afriean philosophy, but any cultural system of understanding? Unfortunately 11111. While Ricoeur's goal is admirable, seeing traditionality as universal does little to ground African traditions and guarantee the Africanity of African l'hllosophy. For that, we would require specifics. Traditions are an interpreted

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sense in the debate. And, using a term from several different "traditional" cultures (supposing that such a term exists, which is by no means certain) only serves to fragment the possibility of real conversation, as well as bringing up the questio? of what, exactly, brings these "traditional" patterns of thought t~gether. Afn~an thinkers often use the term "traditional" in reference to their own speclfic ethnic systems of thought or practice. It is as if all these different cultural patterns across Africa (and further-groups as diverse as First Nations people in Canada, aboriginal people in Australia, and indigenous groups ,in ~orthern Japan have all been called traditional) somehow all have somethl~g 10 common, What could that commonality be? Likely, little more than theu common oppositional term, modernity, and the history of oppression and exclusion that has gone along with it. Interestingly, though, despite the fact that there is no genetic link between various "traditional" thoughts, they are often described in very similar ways. For example, they all tend to be described as holistic rather than r~du~t~onis­ tic. They all seem to be community based rather than based on th~ mdlvldual, and politics is often described in consensual rather than confllctual terms .. They all seem to have something like an ethics of care, rather than an abstr~t ethics. They all seem to have a land ethic of some sort. Perhaps the only major way that these "traditional" groups conceptually diverge is in the part women. play in the society. . . On the other hand, there are some who are anxious to show the contmUlty., of the traditional with the modem. So, various writers will argue that there· is rationality in traditional settings that looks like current rationality in some· way (e.g., Nigerian analogues of Einstein). Some might argue t~at there a~e democratic structures that mirror or anticipate modern ones. WhIle the tradItional exists in some sort of opposition to modernity, then, some proponents of tradition seem to want to embrace what might be seen as positive features of modernity. ~..

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past relating to an interpreted present, and the uses of tradition in African philosophy invariably appeal to specifics. Even Gyekye sees rationality as governing tradition, as he wants us to choose between the useful and hannful traditions. This supposes that reason rises above tradition, and renders tradition as another artifact that reason can manipulate to its own ends. But, as Robert PierceylO has argued, traditionality and tradition are not as easy to separate as it seemS. That means that we will have to consider the ways in which reason is wrapped up with tradition, and vice versa.

,",ucieties,12 but had the drawback of constructing explanations that would be of interest or value only to societies other than the ones studied. The question of the transmission of tradition, then, begs the question of whether this transmission is being viewed from the outside, and seen as part "I' a causal or structural pattern, or is viewed from the inside, and is seen oy participants in the society as part of their regular activity. Each may talk IIlIout tradition "explaining" things, but in fact mean something quite differenl by it. This inner/outer split is not the split between good and bad. There IIrc problems in both cases. Viewing tradition from the outside means risking the possibility that it could just be used for some unexamined purpose of modernity (at worst, the Nazi use of tradition to buttress its claims of entitle/IIcnt); viewing tradition from the inside could be equally problematic, as one lII"y use it to avoid reflection on some aspect of one's own culture, or worse, enforce inequality or even brutality. Can intolerance, hate, or class privilege, for instance, ever be a traditional value? The problem becomes more acute as we realize that tradition amounts to the unexaminable values we hold. Even if no value is ultimately unexaminIIblc, tradition assumes that something escapes the direct rational gaze. It is nol, however, irrational. We can think of all sorts of practices that may be rcl:lted to our genetic makeup or instinct. These are not considered traditioll, but biology, and we think of them as a force that we have little say Ill, even if we can subject it to the rational gaze. Tradition does not escape Ihe rational gaze, but is in its peripheral vision. Indee.d, tradition is peri phcrulity to rational vision itself, which never comes into sharp focus. As Olll! becomes competent in a culture, one learns what to look at, and what Clln serve as the context for what is looked at. We can see this as we learn 10 drive-some things require direct attention, the direct gaze, and other things do not. Some things will always be in the peripheral gaze, but that peripheral knowledge is still essential to driving. We could choose to look at what is in the peripheral. but in that case, we would risk driving off the road. We would not be competent drivers if we allowed what should be peripheral 10 become part of the rational gaze. None of this means that philosophers should not subject everything in a !;ullure to the rational gaze, but it does mean that we have to recognize that trudition is a mode of thought, not an object of thought. It is what makes I.:uhural competence possible. The problem with modern societies is not that they do not have traditions, but that competence in those cultures is so much mure varied, and there are so many more micro-cultures to navigate. Those Who would like to insist on "traditional values" on, for instance, the religious rljht, Ilfe really asking for a flattening of those micro-cultures, and their use uf the concept of tradition owes much more to the rational exercise of power

50

THE TRANSMISSION OF TRADITION Using tradition as the basis for African philosophy requires that the process of transmission be understood. If we reduce tradition to specific verbal or written artifacts, transmission is not a difficult affair to understand. These sorts of things are handed down in social settings all the time. But it is one thing to tie tradition to sayings, and it is another thing to tie tradition to the meanings of the sayings. It is, after all, only within a social context that these sayings are understood, and the society changes through the years. And, in the case of sage philosophy (for example), it is not the sayings that are considered traditional, but the wisdom of the sages themselves. In other cases, it is a set of practices that is considered traditional (e.g., medical practices, agricultural practices, and so forth). Stephen Turner, in The Social Theory of Practices. lI argues that it is very difficult to generate a scientific social theory out of the notion of tradition. Tradition, he maintains, consists of sets of practices, and practices are individual habits, and habits die with individuals. As such, they cannot be generalized to the extent that allows us to make causal connections. Tradition does not explain anything. But, one might respond, it is not explanation we are after in philosophy. We are after understanding. When we appeal to tradition as the basis for sage phi- .' losophy, we are simply trying to understand the nature of African society before (and apart from) the influences of Western modernity. The split between explanation and understanding is an old and contested one. Ricoeur thinks it is the most unfortunate tum hermeneutics took. Still, it had its uses. In the history of Western thought, the scientific impulse toward causal explanation as the only kind of noetic activity had to be resisted. Explanation, then, took on causal (or, in social sciences, structural) overtones which understanding did not have. Explaining African society, for most of this century, meant resorting to structuralist or functionalist accounts, which had the benefit of seeing soci. eties as organisms in their own right rather than primitive versions of Western

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than the realization that our peripheral vision is more difficult to deal with as the array of competencies that are part of micro-cultures proliferates. The idea that tradition is a mode of thought rather than an object of thought means that there are some senses of the concept that will be dead ends. Tra~ dition cannot, for instance, simply be recollection in the form of nostalgia. By recollection. I am not referring to anamnesis, the Platonic theory of know ledge. I am referring to the simple act of choosing aspects of the past to recognize, without recognizing that such choosing fulfills current needs or goals. Recollection is a deferral of meaning. It is what happens when people look back to "the good old days." There is the illusion that meaning resides in the past, rather than in a continuum between the past and the future. Svetlana Boym's The Future of Nostalgia analyzes the subtleties of the relationship between nostalgia and tradition at some length. 13 Secondly, the transmission of tradition is not plagiarism of the past. If a student is asked to do a report on a paper, and that student copies out the whole paper word for word and hands it in, have they understood it perfectly? No, they have plagiarized it. Their "perfect" reproduction of it covers over the possibility of understanding. Tradition is not slavery to the past, but indebtedness to it. It is the creative re~appropriation of elements of the past. Third, the transmission of tradition is not the transfer of some discrete objects from one time to another. Many, including Gyekye, think about tradition as traditions, or things handed down. The etymology of the word encourages that way of thinking. But these things become impenetrable, and we cannot access them if they become altifacts of culture rather than living elements of culture. The "things" (e.g., dances, rituals, patterns of life) are the notation of tradition, not the tradition itself, just as music is passed down through notation, but no one supposes that that is the music itself. Fourth, the transmission of tradition is not the consumption of tradition. In imagining that we can exert present-day control over what we choose to appropriate and what we choose not to, we assume that tradition is sub~ect to our will. We really do buy into the modernist attitude of a sharp break With the past, since in the past we are assumed to be immersed in tradition, and thus our will is governed by it, whereas noW we rise above tradition to the extent that we can decide what to take and what to leave behind. Finally, the transmission of tradition is not passive or non-rational. While we do not have complete rational control over tradition, it does not have complete control over us either. Indeed, despite the fact that we tend to think of tradition in terms of discrete beliefs, practices, or values that are handed down, it is more accurate to see tradition as the context of interpretation that allows us to enact beliefs, practices, and values in the present. The "transmission" of tradition, then, is somewhat misleading, as the real issue is how the past is

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understood, and becomes part of our understanding. If tradition is what is peripheral to the rational gaze in the competent engagement with culture, we can st:e that it must always be present and part of the act of interpreting culture. The transmission of tradition becomes interesting particularly in "traditional" societies if one takes into account the earlier comment about tradilion as rooted in the growth of Western Christianity. What made the appeal to authority work in that context was that there were texts, not only primary ones but also a history of interpretive ones, which could back up the claim 10 authority. As well, there was limited literacy, which meant that there were only a few who had access to these texts. Tradition. then, was more than just Ihe say~so of a few, but at the same time, the texts took on a reality through Ihe agency of the priests and the pope. Transmission of tradition, then, had hoth an anchor point that existed through time, as well as an interpretive hureaucracy that ensured that it would be taken seriously. It is the establishIllent of identity which takes the interpretive locus to be the community, ruther than the individual. Africa becomes an interesting case. The (probably overstated) fact that Africa had little writing is well known. Some (e.g., Edward Shilsl4) seem 10 think that writing is intrinsically superior for the transmission of tradition. This seems odd, given that "traditional" societies are also often oral Kocieties, particularly in Africa. If writing is so much better for the transmisliion of tradition, why is it that cultures which valued writing highly also developed the European Enlightenment, perhaps the time and place in histmy most hostile to tradition? Still, the point needs to be addressed-what difference does it make to think in terms of orality rather than writing in the tl'lmsmission oftradition? Orality embodies change through the re-telling of a story with different "hl.ldings, but in fact it might be possible to maintain sameness through the retcllings as well. The old "telephone" game, which seems to show that orality IN inherently unreliable, is not a good model of the transmission of tradition, especially in oral cultures. There is a much more "communal" hearing of the message, rather than one individual passing it down to one other individual. The message is heard by many, and when it is retold in another context or to Allother group, it is again usually heard by many. So, in the retellings there is Ihe possibility of checking whether the story reflects the community or not. Does this mean that orality is necessarily superior to textuality when it comes In Ihe passing and appropriation of tradition? No, it does nol. The point here is Ihut orality is a significant aspect of the transmission of tradition, and that turnItlA' it into textuality has its benefits, but also its problems as well. In fact, a great deul of tradition is already recorded textually, and it holds the same position in K'llltion to reason that oral tradition does- it stands in its peripheral vision. The

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issue is not to find out how to fix an object for philosophical scrutiny, but rather how to allow reason to engage tradition without destroying it. Transmission is repetition. Several contemporary thinkers argue that we need to change the form of a transmission (e.g., Kierkegaard's "repetition," Heidegger's "Auswiderung," the "annual festival" of Gadamer) in order to maintain something. In change there is the preservation of sameness. And Gyekye is surely correct to observe that "the belief or practice is placed at the disposal of the new generation in the expectation that that generation would preserve it. But the preservation of it, in part or in whole, would depend very much on the attitude the new generation adopts toward it and would not necessarily be automatic, as the word "transmit" would suggest (221). In fact, we could push Gyekye's point further, and recognize that it is not simply "plac(ing) at the disposal" and hoping that something will be picked up. The new generation reads the old as a text and reenacts it as a play. Of course, not all readings and re-presentations are equaL If the oral tradition is enacted in pUblic, the community can act as a check on the reliability of a transmission. This may suggest that transmissions themselves may not be a matter of handing down discrete elements such as propositions or maxims. These discrete elements do not survive well through the change of context, or even attempted iterations (as the telephone game makes clear). However, for a "traditional" culture (or, for that matter, for any culture), this may not be the point behind transmission. In Gadamer's example of the festival,15 there is no "real" festival, which later versions aspire to recreate. The festival "has its being only in becoming and return" (123). It exists "only in being celebrated" (124). And, celebration does not simply mean "celebration somewhere, by someone," but participation, particularly in the role of spectator. Gadamer points out that "theoros" refers to "someone who takes part in a delegation to a festival" (124). That spectator engages in theoria, participating through presence. The festival is very much like the tradition, as used in the context of African philosophy. The transmission of tradition may be seen as the basis of . theoria. The "spectator," who is the participant in the reenactment of the festival known as communal life, engages in the process of re-thinking through re-presentation. So, it is not just that elements are placed at the disposal of a new generation. Their appropriation is itself an act of reflective thought. Gadamer, of course, has a well thought out notion of tradition that stands at the core of his hermeneutic philosophy, and the image of the festival captures both the aesthetic and the temporal nature of tradition. Casting tradition as . aesthetic rather than epistemological (the standard of truth in a culture) and metaphysical (embodied in discrete, transmittable, "real" elements), the way most African philosophers seem to be inclined to do, has the benefit of ac-

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l'llunting for tradition as experienced by its participants, rather than as studied from the outside. At the same time, it is ironic that the element that has held moral force should tum out to be aesthetic, often thought as the area most resistant to ethics and most open to relativism. The irony dissipates when we recognize that, far from placing moral authority in the past, as those who dclend tradition might be inclined to argue, an aesthetic notion of tradition places moral authority in the present, and perhaps also the future. So, a conilcrvative claim that "tradition dictates that we do X" translates as "this is the reenactment of the past that We find most compelling today." With this move, Ihe possibility of reasoned debate opens up, for one is no longer arguing WiLh mute, ancient ancestors, but with contemporary play actors like oneself. (iyekye's demurral on placing excessive trust in the ancestors (257-258) lakes on less force as we recognize this. But one might still object that something must be transmitted in tradition. i{cenactment does not in itself deny that there is something that moves from pust to present, it only places the emphasis on the receiver rather than the Iransmitter. What is handed down? Is it a set offorma! propositions or literary ihflns? Is it a set of rules or values? Is it a set of generalizations? Is it a set of I)ractices? Is it "forms of life," to use a Diltheyan phrase? Michael Polanyil6 !iccms to suggest that practical wisdom is "embodied in action" and not "expressed in rules of action." There are no explicit rules, but there are implicit rules. These implicit rules are important: "a society which wants to preserve II fund of personal knowledge must submit to tradition," But the preservationiSI view of tradition also seems to suggest that tradition (and perhaps, also Polanyi's notion of personal knowledge) is essentially conservative. Furthermore, if what is transferred is "embodied in action," just what is Il'IlDsferred that is not explicit? Is what is transferred unexpressed because it l'IlIlflOt be expressed, or just because it happens to not be expressed? The first Inclines us toward a mystical view of tradition, which virtually shuts down rcl1sonable reflection. Unfortunately, it also shuts down any serious form of crilique. The architects of the National Socialist movement used this notion III' lradition to great effect to instill a sense of belonging and destiny in the (Jerman people; the only form of dissent turned out to be equally irrational. The second choice is the one that more people would likely take seriously. Turner argues that the transmission of practical wisdom embodied in action IImounts to the transmission of habits, which are essentially individual and as IIuch cannot be used as the foundation for social theory. If transmission is more like reenactment, and if time demands that the Nuhject (whether that be the individual or the culture) be caught up in the l.Iucstion of tradition, then supposing we can separate off a set of beliefs that Clln be passed on, recovered, or suppressed seems unlikely. This is not to say

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that the currents of tradition do not allow for manipulation, but rather that this is not done by supposing that tradition is the carrier or container of a set of transplantable entities. Benjamin understood this; in John McCole's work on Benjamin's theory of tradition, McCole says, He (Benjamin) sets particular store by the processual character of tradition. The changing conditions of present-day interest, or AktuaJitat, guarantee that a historical state of affairs constantly polarizes into pre- and post-history anew, never in the same way (V 587). The past is therefore fundamentally incomplete. leaving tradition open to startling revisions. Benjamin makes an emphatic plea against reifying the past as if it were a matter of "goods" that could be securely possessed. "The work of the past is ... not complete"-neiLher past works themselves nor the working of the past (1l477).J7

Tradition, McCole goes on to say, is "never a secure inheritance," and "the goal is not simply to replace one entrenched, affinnative canon with another but to open the traditioning process to ceaseless contestation. The tradition of the oppressed is to be both a different tradition and a different kind of tradition." If tradition is regarded as a set of transferable values or concepts, the ontological system in which those concepts occur is never questioned. In particular, the present system of domination, whether it exists in lingering colonial structures or new forms of domination, will simply use tradition as if it is history, that is, objectifiable and "ready-to-hand," to be pressed into service for whichever master is strong enough to use it. African philosophy that has as its foundation the rational study of tradition runs the risk of simply replicating current systems of domination, even as that philosophy tries to extricate Africa from those systems. If the philosophy calls for a return to tradition, those who have the status quo as their interest can heartily agree, recognizing with Abelard that the Sic et Non of the past can always work in favor of those who have the power of inteIJlretation at their disposal. If the philosophy calls for an abdication of tradition, those in power can still agree, for the option becomes technological and bureaucratic modernization, which Western philosophers have already shown supports state power and economic privilege for a few. And those, like Gyekye, who WOUld. argue a middle path, wanting to adopt some aspects of tradition and turn away : from others, have only pushed the problem back one step, for now some notion of reason will have to be invoked, and as we have already seen (and will see; again in the next chapter), that brings up a whole new series of problems. But how is it possible that, as Benjamin and McCole argue, tradition is . something other than "goods that can be possessed"? What is needed is not a theory of how the "contents" of tradition can be used in the present, but rather how the very concept of tradition can itself be re-appropriated. David

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suggests a number of ways that the "tradition" has been re-appropri-

uled, mostly imperfectly or inauthentically:

I. Tradition is pressed into service by states, when they are trying to reassert their own power. Tradition is a principle of legitimation, and states can find ways of molding tradition to their own uses by showing an unbroken march (or triumph over adversity) through history toward the present state, and the present government. 2. Tradition becomes (ironically) useful to capitalism, when tradition becomes commodified to make a sale. While capitalism is essentially oriented toward the new, it uses the old for its resonances. .l Tradition is re-appropriated as "traditionalism," a reactionary and nostalgic attempt to go back to better days (or at least, the memory, real or otherwise, of better days). 4. Tradition is re-appropriated through the study of history. This is the nineteenth-century German answer-either recapture the content of history (e.g., folklorists, proverb philosophers?), or recapture the form of history (the "whole," the grand narrative). The problem with both is that history's "rational gaze" does not seem to get at what people hold as important in tradition. This is, as Gross puts it, information about tradition, and not tradition itself. :'i. One more failed attempt that Gross does not mention-tradition can be seen as a causal agent. Some hope to find solutions to present-day problems by scouring the rainforest of tradition. Recovery, then, becomes the :>earch for a set of causes, specifically the causes that will alleviate current social ills, or perhaps the causes of the social ills themselves. If the social ill is corruption in government, we look to tradition to find out how people in the past would have dealt with the problem. If the problem is land allocation, or democracy, or women's rights, we look to tradition for some solution that can be implemented. The problem is that this is a simplistic view of causal agency. It assumes that a solution from a time when social structures are different can simply be parachuted into the present, perhaps with a bit of tinkering to make allowances for the fact that the state is organized differently now, or that we now have technology. Gross's preference is to remember what is signit1cant about tradition-its Mense of otherness. It is familiar, in a sense, but it is also what is past, and ewbodies a lost time. That is what gives it a certain power. If Ilipsed or defeated traditions are simply ignored, or if they are approached merely cognitively as curiosities from the past, they will lack consequences;

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they will then indeed become the detritus of history some critics claim they are. But if these traditions are brought out of obscurity and inserted more provocatively into the present, they can have a creatively disruptive effect, because they bring with them a host of alternate beliefs and practices whose very strangeness makes them disturbing. At the same time, many of the important substantive traditions of the past also carry with them a repertoire of critical concepts which have been occluded, suppressed, or simply forgotten by modernity. These abandoned or neglected concepts not only do not play by the prevailing rules of the game, in the sense that they do nol "fit in" with wha~ we call normativity, ?ut they also tend to call our rules and norms into questIOn. Hence, by regardmg what is in light of what is excluded or repressed, it is possible to gain an angle of vision on modernity which cannot help but raise doubts about many of our otherwise well-protected iUusions. What we need, then, is neither more forgening nor the kind of recovery of the past which reduces difference to sameness. Rather, we need a non-nostalgic recherche du temps perdu to expand and deepen the possibilities of critique. 19

modes. But Benjamin's point, that the tradition of the oppressed is a fundamentally different kind of tradition, must also be taken seriously. Interestingly, both agree that tradition is an irruption, an aporia. For Gross, it is an IIporia in modernity, and for Benjamin, in history. This perhaps gives a clue to a direction on tradition in the African philosophical setting. For many on both sides of the tradition debate. tradition represents a continuity, and the present is a disruption which must be either tlccounted for or healed using the continuity of tradition. The question then nccomes, do we want continuity or not? Some see modernity as the disruplion, and argue that African roots must be recovered by finding continuity. Indeed, some go further yet in seeing tradition as the expression of consensus in African communities. Wiredu has forcefully and, I think, correctly argued ugainst this, by pointing out the lack of consensus in traditional societies. 20 Some, on the other hand, argue that the continuity of tradition must be broken ill favor of a program of modernization. In both cases, tradition is the continuity. But what if tradition is actually the disruption? The possibility that tradition is disruption is itself a disruptive thought. Mter all, the common opposition between tradition and modernity might suggest that there are two more or less homogenous entities in a primary/secondIlry relationship. That is the way modernity is often depicted by its critics-a lIIonolithic system of power and knowledge, totalizing in its intent, coercive in its applications. Tradition, inasmuch as it is in opposition to modernity, is "that which modernity overcomes." While it might be seen as disparate and dissolute, particularized strands of folk knowledge, it is overcome as a unity. Tradition in the modern age is anything but disruptive; in fact, it forms a counter-modernity, as totalizing as any meta narrative offered by the West. It is what is found all over the world, differing in dress or cuisine, but similar III forms of life. Against this, of course, postcolonial theorists have continually pointed tlU! the sites of resistance to modern coercion that can be found in various practices and literatures of "traditional" people. But something interesting hllppens-the traditional is lost in the descriptive rationalization of local resistance. The traditional cannot simply be a form of life anymore, but must he brought within the realm of theory. Tradition must become unrecognizable Itl (he traditionaL Tradition as disruption must disrupt not only umeflective Western modes of powerlknowledge, but also the hyper-theorized postcoloIlllilisms that essentially withdraw the traditional from the tradition. Tradition is not the same everywhere, because its uses are not the same ncrywhere. Certainly there are similarities, at least as analyzed by anIhropologists- social cohesion, identity, common reference points, moral fmce. But to subject it to scrutiny invalidates it, for what is important about

Gross sees two basic sources to make this reclamation possible-the traces of tradition that ex.ist in cunent practice, but have been largely forgotten, and the written record. It is interesting to note that neither of these may be very useful to the African philosopher concerned about the recovery of tradition. In the first case, it is not so much that traces have been forgotten, but rather have been suppressed, and not by Africans, but by the recent colonial history forced upon them. There is no unbroken line of history or development that contributes to forgetting, but rather a rupture that forces it. And, yet, of course, forgetting is never complete. An episteme forced upon people tends to have the effect of solidifying certain aspects of tradition in the minds of those who see themselves as tending to an identity under attack. In the second case, the written record is scant at best in much of Africa for "traditional" ways. There are, of course, oral accounts of all sorts (what have already been argued to have their own efficacy). However, it is important to note that all oral accounts exist as performance in a contemporary setting. Texts, to some extent, also do, but with texts we usually have other texts to attest to the history of transmission and interpretation. With the Bible, for example. there are all sorts of texts that tell us how the Bible was understood at different times, and these "parallel" texts give us ways of imagining alternate readings. The alternate readings of an oral tradition may be found in variations used by dif- . ferent people, but it is still difficult to fix historical development with orality in the way it is done with written texts. . Gross' answer, then, seems better suited to the recovery of Western tradl- . tions for its own uses than for the African philosopher. Surely he is correct that the recovery of the concept of tradition has imperfect or inauthentic·

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tradition for those who value it are precisely those aspects which cannot be brought to scrutiny or which resist rationalization. Tradition is what one is willing to take for granted, to leave unquestioned, at least for the moment. Tradition brings up the liminal area between thought and its other, or between the rational gaze and its periphery. Put another way, tradition is peripherality, that is. that which lies in the peripheral vision. outside of the focus of rationality, but nevertheless still part of vision itself. This liminality or peripherality is not located at the same place for Africa that it is for Western philosophy, but it is there for both. And, it is not analyzable solely in terms of the potential for existence or for elided meanings (as postcolonial thought is inclined to do), but also in terms of the actual existence that is there for those who live it. This is where African philosophy gets interesting. Places are certainly traditional, but tradition is also a place, one which is never unambiguous or pure, but is also not reducible to an abstraction. People cannot choose to live or not live in tradition; rather, tradition becomes a particular kind of useful story about a place that one inhabits, and more than that. the context for rational thought. Tradition, then, is not (solely) an object of thought but a mode of thought. And it is not simply a concept that can be applied to or imposed on the world, or adopted as one sees fit. It certainly can be reflected upon as a concept, but it is a marker of a life-world, and the extent to which it becomes conceptual alone is the extent to which it becomes divorced from its intellectual and human place. Tradition points to what matters, and its way of mattering, and philosophy must attend to that. The debate in African philosophy has largely been about whether tradition is desirable. Some argue that it guarantees the Africanity of African philosophy, and resists the homogenizing tendency of Western thought, and therefore should be championed. Others argue that tradition has held Africa back, and should be jettisoned or relegated to specific occasions. In both cases, it has become a concept that guarantees or hinders the space of thought. Both understand tradition as something that can be manipulated, an isolated concept that we can either emphasize or ignore, and that has consequences in either, case. It has not been understood as platial in the manner I have described. Because of this, it is seen either as a link to the past or as a hindrance to the future, but it is not seen as having creative conceptual potential. How might tradition create new concepts? Not by regarding it as a mine for outmoded or overlooked ideas, or a guarantee of the integrity of a culture or philosophy, but by thinking of it as a way of life. We live traditionally, in our various ways and places. This tradition has meaning, both narratively and symbolically. It is a story that we have taken as our own, and it is a set of symbols which extend past our ow~ narratives and in which they have

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Iheir root. Anthropology has always been keen to make those narf'dtives lind symbolic structures available for scrutiny, and in recent years has been hctter at acknowledging the individual or local character of those narratives lind structures. Individuals have become more than a mute conduit to invarilint structures, the uninteresting parole to the crucial langue. Even with this lIlove, though, there is room for philosophy to consider the ways in which that IIlcaning becomes self-reflective. What happens when the reflective scholarly work on tradition is turned back on the culture and becomes part of its life? What happens when philosophy takes seriously the debts and duties it has 10 the place(s) from which it comes? Under these conditions, we have the potential for new ideas that spring from tradition. Philosophy no longer becomes an "arm's length" analysis of concepts which emerged separately in a society. Philosophers become part of culture, lind their ideas are not simply concepts about tradition, they are tradition itself, both revealing and concealing. Philosophical reflection on tradition means reflection on philosophy as traditional, and part of the tradition around it. And, if tradition deals in peripheral vision, the things which cannot easily hc brought into the rational gaze, it is worth thinking about how these can be included in any culture's philosophical activity. Liminality is different in different places, and part of the platial task of philosophy is to identify both the lived meaning ofthe participants, and also to turn back on itself and recognize lIs own place in that meaning. This is truly thought thinking itself. Philosophers, then, wherever they are found, are both inside and outside of Ihcir place, reflecting on it but also implicated by it. As with tradition itself, philosophers try to reconcile incommensurables. In the case of tradition, it Is Ihe contradiction between the unreflectiveness of living with it with the necessity of reflection to even name it. With philosophy, it is the necessity Ill'reflecting on place as if it was separate, while living in it and recognizing IIIlC'S debts to it.

NOTES I. Kwame Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity: Philosophical Reflections on the AjJ-ican Experience (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 1997). 2. Jean-Marie Makang, "Of the Good Use of Tradition: Keeping the Critical J'cl'spcctive in African Philosophy," in Postcolonial African Philosophy: A Critical NrC/der, ed. Emmanuel Eze (Cambridge. Mass.: Blackwell Publishers. 1997); D. A. MUNOio. "Critical Rationalism and Cultural Traditions in African Philosophy," New "o/itical Science 21. no. 1 (1999): 59-72. 3. Eric Hobsbawn and Terence Ranger, eds. The Invention of Tradition (Crunhrldge, Mass.: Cambridge University Press, 1983),

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4. Alassane Ndaw, "Unity and Value in African Thought" in M. C. Doeser and J. N. Kraay, cds. Facts and Values: Philosophical Reflections from Western and NonWestern Perspectives (Amsterdam, Netherlands: Springer. 1986): 171-175. 5. David Gross, The Past in Ruins: Tradition and the Critique of Modernity (Amherst; University of Massachusetts Press, 1992): 128. 6. Hobsbawn and Ranger. eds. The Invention of Tradition. 7. See Stephen H. Watson, Tradition(s): Refiguring Community and Virtue in Classical German Thought (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997): 50ff. 8. See laroslav Pelikan, The Vindication of Tradition (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1984) for a reading that takes the religious sense of the term seri-

Chapter Three

Questioning Reason

ously. 9. Paul Ricoeur, Time and Narrative, Vol. 3. Translated by Kathleen Blamey and David Pellauer (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990): 216-229. 10. Robert Piercey, "Ricoeur's Account of Tradition and the Gadamer-Habermas Debate." Human Studies 27 (2004): 274. 11. Stephen Turner, The Sodal Theory of Practices: Tradition, Tacit Knowledge, and Presuppositions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). ] 2. This may seem surprising; I mean it the way Patrick Baert argues that functionalism represents a shift from nineteenth century sociology and anthropology. See

You scholar seeking after truth I see the top Of your bald head Between mountains of books Gleaming with sweat, Can you explain The African philosophy On which we are reconstructing Our new societies? (Owt p' Bitek, Song of Ocol: 150)

Baert, 37ff. 13. Svetlana Boym, The Future of Nostalgia (New York: Basic Books, 2001). 14. Edward Shils. Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, \981). 15. Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, 2nd Edition (New York: Crossroad Publishing, 1989): 122ff. 16. Michael Polanyi. Personal Knowledge: Towards a post-Critical Philosophy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974): 53. n. John McCole. Walter Benjamin and the Antinomies of Tradition (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1993): 298. 18. David Gross, The Past in Ruins: Tradition and the Critique of Modernity (Amherst, Mass.: University of Massachusetts Press, 1992): 68-80. 19. Gross, Past in Ruins. 88-89. 20. Kwasi Wiredu and Kwame Gyekye (cds.), Person and Community: Ghanaian Philosophical Studies, Vol. 1 (Washington. D.C.: Council for Research in Values and Philosophy, 1992). See also D. A. Masolo, "Critical Rationalism and Culrural Traditions in African Philosophy." New Political Science 21 vol. 1 (1999): 59-72.

OLD QUESTIONS ABOUT REASON

The debates over the nature of reason, and related ideas such as truth and knuwledge, have a long history in African philosophy (and before that, in IIlIlhropology) and have been well rehearsed in other places. 1 The debate has hugely centered on a we]] known, troubling tension. If, as I have previously .rgu~d, a great, deal o~ African .philosophy has been focused on establishing Ihul,a set of philosophical practices are truly African and truly philosophical the lssue of reason presents a tension between the two. Didier Kaphagawani land Jeanette Malherbe put it succinctly: ~h.ere the universalist denies that an African epistemology is possible, the relaIlvlst suggests that an African epistemology is just an empty term. 2

If.we imagine a continuum on the nature of reason, from a universalist conon the one hand to a .particularist conception on the other (and indeed,

~epllon

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t

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framing this as a continuum already suggests that the two positions are not contradictories), we have problems at either end, and problems in the middle. If one wishes to carve out the territory of African philosophy by establishing that the forms of reason extant in Africa (contra Hegel) are identical to the rest of the world (as Oruka and others clearly wish to do), then some other tie to Africa will be required. Oruka and his discussants provide that - the idea of practicality (which itself will be addressed in a later chapter)-but that seems to suggest that rationality does not really flow from African culture, but into it, as forms of rationality learned in Western universities are used to solve African problems. Odera Oruka, of course, wished to show that such forms of rationality have always existed in Africa, but if that is the case, there is a surprising lack of reference to traditional arguments in his own discussion. In other words, it seems much more likely that he is relying on skills honed outside of Africa. This pattern can be found in other African philosophers, who proceed as if the "African" part of African philosophy refers to the focus of analysis rather than the nature of the tools doing the analysis. This is most evident in the work of Paulin Hountondji, who strongly favors universality in African philosophy.

he the case, but as we look at the history of reason within Africa, these two lire more often than not put in a hierarchical relationship. In the dialogue, it is clear that reason is a universal thing that is brought to bear on African Issues and questions. It did not come from those issues and questions, but uIldergirds them.

My own view is that this universality must be preserved-not because phil~so­ phy must necessarily develop the same themes or even ask the same questIOns from one country or continent to another, but because these differences of content are meaningful precisely and only as differences of content, which, as such, refer back to the essential unity of a single discipline, of a single style of inquiry.3

While Hountondji affirms, here and elsewhere, the importance of African \ content for African philosophy, for him method transcends that content. Philosophical method, which is a particular form of reason, has no country . and no place. If on the other hand, one moves toward the particularist end of the spectrum of African rationality, then we are faced with a Wittgensteinian position, that there are incommensurable forms of rationality, contained in language. or culture, and we would have to rely on something non-rational to bridge' the gap. We would essentially have to give up on the idea that there are ab-. stract principles that can transcend cultures. This is one of the implications \ of Hountondji's criticism of ethnophilosophy. Not only is ethnophilosoph)' uncritical and anonymously held, reflection on local knowledge can only be accessed descriptively and applied locally. Reason, and therefore philosophy, seems impossible. And how about just mixing these two together, and supposing that reason. sometimes partakes of universality, and sometimes of particularity? That rna)'

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In his A Short History of African Philosophy, Barry Hallen discusses reaalong the lines I have outlined here. He devotes a chapter each to "RatiolIulity as Culturally Universal" and "Rationality as Culturally Relative" (note Ihe use of the term "relative" rather than "particular"). Hallen suggests that Ihe tension may in fact be one of emphasis rather than difference in kind. NOli

One outstanding issue that merits further discussion is the need to reflect again on the basis for the distinction between those who have been typed as univer~alists and those who have been typed as relativists. Is it really a difference in k.ind, or is it more one of emphasis- insofar as some African philosophers have preferred to focus primarily upon what they see as commonalities while others have preferred to concentrate upon what they see as differences? This may be true to some extent- insofar as it is a consequence of their methodological assumptions. 4

ffallen's suggested solution has merit. One benefit is that he recognizes lhul reason has a methodological component. In fact, I will press this furIher later in this chapter, to argue that rationality is the process of producIlIg new concepts through the analysis of questions rather than merely the uefense of propositions and beliefs. But the tension goes deeper than just Ihe question of the point from which any particular philosopher embarks on his or her quest. Hallen's tentative solution is much like the way someone, In U superficial analysis, might think that rationalism and empiricism can be harmonized-rationalism begins with universals and axioms and deI.IUI':CS particulars, while empiricism begins from particulars and generates MOllcralizations (importantly, not the same as universals). And this model lives us a clue to the problems with the idea that the problem is just about methodological starting point. ]n fact, the conflict between rationalism and .ntpiricism required much more than recognizing different starting points. II required a Kant to come along, who could propose a transcendental I.Ilulcctic which established that pure reason made both rationalism and fll1piricism possible. 1t required a Hegel to dialectically relate modes of r.llonality along a historical path. And, it required a great deal of work in the philosophy of science in the nineteenth century to establish the ways in whh.:h we might both attend to particulars, and at the same time overcome tho problems over what exactly could be known that emerged with the reJ'L:lion of Aristotelean universals. In short, it was more than just a matter

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of perspective on the production of knowledge in Western rationality, and it will be in the analogous African case as well. So, the tension of reason in the classic problem of African philosophy remains. We seem faced either with a central human activity, rationality, that transcends specific human history and questions, or the same activity that is so mired in those conditions that it can no longer aspire to anything more than the explication of local patterns of thought. While this tension may exist everywhere, it becomes an existential issue within African philosophy precisely because Western thought has taken on the position of universality as its own local form of reason. In other words, the Western pretension is that the development of universal reason and the reflection on particular issues within the West are identical. African philosophy cannot afford this pretenSion (short of simply asserting it), and it leads to Bernasconi's "double bind":

cnce. Thus, true philosophy cannot emerge without science emerging, or at least some disciplined attempt to move away from mythical. Gadamer says sumething similar to this, in "The Power of Reason":

Either African philosophy is so similar to Western philosophy that it makes no distinctive contribution and effectively disappears; or it is so different that its credentials to be genuine philosophy will always be in doubt. 5

What has been less discussed is the history of the questions which the discourse on reason addresses. Accounts of the debate over reason in African philosophy have recognized the tension between neo-Enlightenment universalism and traditionalist particularism, but they have not tended to focus on reason as an evolving dialectical practice. Reason has been seen as rationality, a term of classification and method. We consider a human practice or belief and then decide whether it fits into the category of "rational" or not. That decision could be based on the recognition of a procedure as rational, or the affirmation that . a belief was properly formed or supported. In any case, reason is a form of ordering which includes both the order itself and how the order was achieved. Of course, it may not be just any form of ordering, but in fact, something that is . ordered is intelligible, even if it is relatively impervious to external intervention (this is Horton's distinction between "open" and "closed" societies, which has . animated much discussion about reason in African philosophy). The issue of the development of reason is an important one, and one not always acknowledged either in the African or the Western context. Indeed, acknowledging that reason's history might be relevant to the nature of reason itself has usually been understood as relativism, or more specifically, historicism. The possibility that reason is differentiated spatially (what African philosophy calls "particularism") has similarities to the possibility that reason is differentiated temporally, and in fact becomes intertwined with it. Hountondji maintains that, while reason is and always has been a feature of the African. landscape, critical reflective reason only comes with the development of sci-

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The underlying conviction of all kinds of enlightenment is a faith in reason and in its triumphant power. What we today call "philosophy" is understood as bringing about such enlightenment. This is the case not only in the West, where something we now call "science" has been developed in a double movement: the Greeks' overcoming mythological consciousness on the one hand, and on the other, emancipation from the pressures of authoritarian mediaeval church doctrine. Even extra-European cultures, old and young, reflect the appropriation of modem science in European thinking, whether one views the positivism of scientific theory, economic materialism, or the idealism of freedom as the real secret of modem civilization.6

y'v~i.'e it. is no doubt true that "extra-European cultures" (a center-periphery ~lehOitlOn If there ever was one) have appropriated science and its products, III varying degrees and with differing levels of enthusiasm, it is worth asking whether the path to philosophy is quite as clear as it seems here. To be fair, (Jlld~mer spends much of the rest of the essay which this quotation begins, urgumg that reason cannot be simply identified with science, that technique is lIut equivalent to reason, and that "practical" reason must precede "theoreti~ul" reason. Nevertheless, the question for African philosophy remains open: It) what extent does this path from myth to science to philosophy hold true, lind if it is true, where does that leave African thought? One hallmark of philosophy that everyone seems to agree on is that philosophy must be critical, reflective, and analytic. In other words, philosophy docs not simply take received wisdom as given, but subjects it to scrutiny using some agreed-upon criteria. It "doubles back" in the sense that it reflects (III its ~wn processes, both in the interests of refinement, but more importantly III the mterests of thoroughgoing questioning. And, it tends to "take apart" and address different aspects of an issue, in the interests of clarity and completeness.

It might be argued that this can come about only in the wake of scientific rcusoning. Greek thought made the first step toward philosophy by SUbjecting mythical thought to public standards of critique. It analyzed concepts, and II reflected on its own processes. Modern scientific thought extends this by IIl1shr~ning objectivity as a virtue (and thus making the critical task central), .lHiUflng that there are self-correcting mechanisms imbedded within scienlific method, and becoming methodologically variegated so that, while one NWndard of reason is used, an object or situation can be analyzed from many ~1I'ferent perspectives.

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On this account, African philosophy would not fare very well. This is Hountondji's position, that without these prerequisites philosophy cannot emerge. The way of proceeding at this point breaks into several branches. We might, with Hountondji, say that what is happening now is not philosophy, but will be the raw material of future philosophy. On the other hand we mIght, along with many other African philosophers, show how African thought actually fits one or more of these criteria, and therefore in its own way measures up to this standard. Or we might, with still other African philosophers, reject this "standard" altogether, claiming that it is just the West pushing its will on Africa again, and Africa needs to define for itself what philosophy is. And yet, there is something dissatisfying about all these options. For one thing, if we take the earlier depiction of philosophy seriously, it must be reflective. None of these options are particularly reflective, not on the process being undertaken, and certainly not on the status of the individual or group championing a particular option. It seems that these options force us into either accepting a version of reason uncritically, and asking whether African philosophy measures up, or rejecting a version of reason, and either substitute another one which reinvests significance in myth, or arguing for something like relativism toward reason, or make some form of substitution for certain aspects of what Western thought might take as reason. Making all this more problematic is the fact that there is no single Western definition or view of reason. The criteria mentioned earlier as a definition of philosophy is not one that would be accepted universally among philosophers in North America and Europe. It is a roughly "Enlightenment" view (another category that turns out to be diffuse upon investigation), and there have b.een all sorts of challenges to Enlightenment views of reason. Indeed, one mIght argue that the last two hundred years of Western philosophy have been either an attempt to refine this view of reason, or an attempt to find alternatives, or an attempt to find mitigating factors and exceptions. So, what view of reason is African philosophy supposed to be using, if any view at all? It seems clear that African philosophy requires a basis in reason. It also seems clear that "Westem" reason has mostly misunderstood and mi sented African experience. This leads us to suspect that reason itself must be . rethought in an African context. But how can this be done? It is clear how it cannot be done. We cannot come up with an alternate set: of criteria to substitute for the ones used elsewhere. This will no longer be reason. Yet, do we not then fall into the problem that reason must be exactly., what the Western Enlightenment said it was? This is true only if we take reason to be something static-an attribute of the mind, or of a culture. Reason, in the West, has a history. It developed the way it did due to a set of questions and requirements being posed. It had a certain character during the age of the

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Greeks, brought about in part by the requirements of establishing the good slate (in Athens, at least), finding the good life, and knowing one's place in a chaotic and hostile cosmos. Thus, there is a dialectical turn that reason takes, away from the recollection and recitation of stories toward the more direclional dialectic of question and answer. Socrates, certainly, is a chief exponent of this, but it can be seen in other thinkers of this time. Reason takes on a n:rtain character because of the demands placed upon it. The demands of the Western medieval period are different, and reason takes on a different face as well. It is no longer the question of finding the good state 01' the good life, but rather showing how a religious position can be reconciled wilh the processes of reason (and of course I recognize that this characterizalion paints with a broad brush). It is too simple to say that reason is simply the handmaid of theology at this point, as if it simply justifies what religion has already discovered. Rational discourse in the Middle Ages was creative. But, it was different from the Greeks. Its political climate was more restrictive. The demands on reason change again with the beginning of the age of science, and again with the various social critiques beginning in the nineteenth century. The point is not to give a natural history of Western reason here, but 10 suggest that reason is the result of historical processes, and is not someIhing that fell from the sky ready to use. It is also not something which we have slowly discovered, or earned, over time, as if in times past we were not reasonable, but now we are. We responded to different demands in different limes, and we are now responding (albeit not very well, sometimes) to the demands of this time. Reason has a provenance. This means that reason is the result of a historical process. But, we cannol say that it is reducible to that historical process. It is possible to have hislorical consciousness without historicism. If reason was reducible to the historical process, there would be no self-reflection, no ability to raise the demands of the age to scrutiny. Reason, then, has a dual position: it is both Inside and outside the demands of its time. And this model is useful for spaliully distributed reason, just as it is for temporally distributed reason. Platial I:ollsciousness need not be relativist any more than historical consciousness need be historicist. This is as clearly true for African philosophy as it is for any other tradition. Instead of simply proposing a definition of reason, as if it comes down from 1111 high, we might ask what the demands on reason are for Africa now, across liN myriad places and in its myriad times. And instead of simply reducing reuson to "what is" in Africa, we might ask how it can be truly critical of the demands placed upon it. I wish to consider two attempts to raise the question of reason in African I)hilosophy. The first is a discussion between scholars from different disci-

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plines about philosophical issues in an African context. The second is a series of attempts to "rationalize" the field by producing taxonomies which order the activity that takes place under the general heading of African philosophy. These two will lead us to several questions concerning reason, and finally to a discussion of an alternative approach to rationality in African philosophy. My critical task here will be to question the importance that has been placed on reason as a guarantee for African philosophy; the positive task will be to reaffirm the importance of reason as an essential element to a creative African philosophy.

THE RATIONAL PATH In a small volume titled The Rational Path: A Dialogue on Philosophy, Law, and Religion, H. Odera Oruka, Jesse Mugambi, and Jackton B. Ojwang engage in a discussion about various aspects of reason across their respective fields of philosophy, religious studies, and law (with A. C. Ringera joining Ojwang for the second dialogue on law). The discussion was originally part of a series shown on the Voice of Kenya television network in 1984 and 1986. The form of the "dialogue" was a television interview, in which a moderator (professor Ahmed I. Salim) asked questions of the three successively, and also allowed opportunity for interaction. This was essentially an interdisciplinary dialogue between Kenyans who had each received at least some training in Europe. The interactions were occasionally heated (for instance, when Oruka accused lawyers of being "mercenaries" at the end of the second discussion), but for the most part they were fairly dispassionate investigations of mostly philosophical issues. The volume is organized into four parts, and in each case the philosophical issues take centre stage. Philosophy is seen as the rational basis of the other two areas (Salim: "We would like to focus in . general on Philosophy and then see in particular how it operates within two· other fields that affect man greatly, namely Law and Religion" [1 D, and the conversation always moves back to those questions. What is noteworthy about this "rational path" is the reasons given for embarking on the discussion in the first place, and the picture of given. The conversation is presented as an effort to "construct a plausible philosophical framework for understanding the present nature of man, and· his position in society" (ix). But the discussants make clear in different ways that the rational path has more than analytic value. All three in different ways emphasize the importance of the rational path to order in society. Ojwang the lawyer links "rationalization" to order: There is a central path of rationalization-some kind of order, some minimum of order, some consistency. and some purpose, in life (6).

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Mugabi agrees with this: Th~se

three-philosophy, law, and religion-have one thing in common: that they hav~ i~ commo~ is ~hat they are concerned with providing foundatIOns fo~ the eil.e~tlve organizatIOn of society. Each one of them has got a role t~ play m ~rovldm~ thes~ foundations. The relationship is: Philosophy is conce~~ b~slcally ~It~ laYing the foundation of rational thinking, and rational thmktng ~s essen~I~1 m the effective organization of society. Religion is concerned Wit? provldmg a world-view and a belief system. Law is concerned with ~he re~ulatlOn of conduct, by specifying certain limits, so that human behaviour IS subjected to certain socially desirable restraints (29). ~hlch

Oruka as well continually emphasizes the importance of consistency ' which he clearly sees as a component of a well organized society: IlJt

~s ce~ain

that the practice of the rational attitude requires consistency in With others. In this regard, judgment-made of others or of particular situatIOns-should be consistent (54). u.eah~g

And the introduction reiterates this commitment: The main c?ntribution of this. book may be seen as its attempt to analyse the llIany C?n~lcts that charactense human life. The participants reflect on these contradlctlOns, and endeavour to propose a philosophic model, as a rational approach to the resolution of such conflicts-hence the title, The Rational Path (I).

The point is that there is a reason given for following the life of reason "nd that reason is social. Other possible reasons could be imagined-it is th ' calling of humans, it undergirds scientific advancement, it Please: (lou, It leads to personal fulfillment. But in the discussion, reason is continu&Illy seen as !eading to the proper functioning of society. . ~()t only IS reason's purpose rooted in the functioning of society, its prereqUJSll~S are also root~d there, in the form of moral rules that make reasoning post.able. Oruka agam:

highe~t

~n philosophical practice, there are, I believe, two vital requirements. The first IS that th~ "practitioner" should exercise his mind independently. This calls for .I,:eedom, In the exercise of human reason. What is meant here is that the exercise of ~eason, the process of rational argument, should proceed to the ultimate ~1~ncluslO,~-wh~ther or not all the spin-off from the reasoning is palatable .... Ircedo~ he~e 10 no way suggests "moral impropriety." It really refers to the opportumty given-to enable a person to remove an obstacle that might lie in Iht! way of clear thinking.

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The second requirement is to be self-critical. Philosophy should not take given truths as dogmas. To the philosopher, the status of such "truths" is only tentative. They are subject to further reevaluation, or even rejection, depending on the emergence of new, objective factors or variables .... There are two basic principles, which should be seen together with the foregoing requirements. One of these is the prillciple of basic reasoning. basic logic, or common reason-namely, that two truths cannot contradict each other. lowe this idea to my former teacher of philosophy, the late Professor Ingemar Hedenius (Uppsala, Sweden), 1908-1982, who in his book Tro och Vetallde (Belief and Knowledge) 1949, refers to this idea as The Postulate of Logic. If it is true that I am a philosopher, and it is true also that Ojwang' is a lawyer, there will be no contradiction between the two truths .... The other principle is the principle of cognitive honesty. But I wish just to call it the principle of the rational path . ... I mean that if beliefs, positions, or truths that I hold, come directly into contradiction with some well given logical, or scientific principles, then I should abandon my beliefs, if I am rational, or at least, reformulate them to suit the neW situation. If these beliefs are refutable by some other more consistent, higher scientific, or philosophical truths, I should again have the rational courage to abandon the beliefs (30-31).

Rational thought will show that the individual purpose, expectation, claim, ambition, commitment, and the like, ought to be so regulated as to accommodate other (legitimate) claims. Such other claims include: other people's claim to dignity; other people's quest for freedom; other people's interest in common property and common institutions; other people's quest for social harmony; other people's desire for ordered access to public assets and public opportunitics; other people's interest in efficiency and competence in the discharge of public functions. With these varied "centres" of claim in the society, perhaps the most crucial yardstick of fairness will be regularity. The rational path, therefore, dictates conduct that proceeds from a clear notion of regularity, as the standard principle of organization (32).

I have quoted this long section (leaving out a few leading questions by the moderator) to point out several things. First, Oruka is clearly working with a universalist version of reason. Reason is not culturally specific for him. Furthermore, there is a fairly abstract sense of reason here. Philosophy . is presented as something close to formal reasoning, in which propositions· can be shown to contradict other propositions. In fact, in the development of reason, this rarely happens-rational systems of thought are rarely shown to be conclusively wrong in a formal sense, but are more often shown to be inadequate to account for experience or a life-world. In many cases (as with Thomas Kuhn's argument about scientific change), philosophical systems are not so much shown to be false as they are outlasted by other systems, as proponents fade from the scene. More interesting is the fact that Oruka couches his account of reason in largely moral terms, as the personal and community characteristics that make. reason possible. The rational path, in other words, is a moral rather than an, epistemological path. He might have focused on the nature of logic, or some. other formal aspect of reason, but he chose to emphasize the moral characteristics. It is worth wondering where the character comes from that can to the rational path. Is it rationally established? Why would someone want take this path, especially if one's goals can be more easily attained in some other way? This question is answered by Jackton Ojwang, the lawyer:

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Ojwang puts the rational path squarely in the service of social order. Why docs he use this argument? We might expect an argument like this in the West, where individualism rules, and the principles of social organization must be externally imposed. There is no "I am because we are" left. But it is worth remembering that the theme of order has permeated the discussion to this point. And of course, as a lawyer this is a central concern for him. Ojwang has udded social responsibility to Oruka's emphasis on personal character. I;or both (and indeed, throughout the dialogue for all participants), the question has been about the prerequisites and function of the rational path, riliher than its nature. The question has been, what makes reason possible, 1111(\ what are the benefits of caring to cultivate reason? The assumption has heel! that reason is available to everyone, as long as they are able to act freely. II is noteworthy as well that Oruka argues that a prerequisite for reason is freedom. This looks superficially similar to Kant's "What is Enlightenment?" dktum Sapere Aude! ("Have the courage to use your own reason!"), except Ihul for Kant the point of the statement is that reason will bring about freedom by allowing us to shed superstition. We must have courage to use reason, which will then bring us enlightenment. For Oruka (more indebted to Kant thun any other Western philosopher), it seems that freedom precedes reason, I"d reason brings social order. I have focused on the function rather than the nature of reason in this dlulogue because it gives evidence of an important question that must be IUldrcssed. What is the question to which this formulation of reason is an anIIwcr'? Put another way, how did this version of reason come to be articulated In Ihis way? The version of reason that is presented follows the Anglo-AmeriLIMn unalytic version of philosophy closely, and to no surprise, since Oruka's .ducution was in that setting. But this presentation of reason elides the battles liver the nature of reason in African philosophy over the past decades. That hlMlnry is part of the place, and presenting a version of reason that could have UUlIle from anywhere, does not mean that it actually did not come from the

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place that it did, with its history of controversy Over the nature and possibil-

Ill' life," or some such thing, and then go on from there to actually do the tusk. As in any philosophy, defining African philosophy is the same as doing il. Many people do not realize this, and want to get a neat definition from Ihe start. Can this be done'! Here are some possibilities, along with potential problems with each: 7

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ity of reason.

MAKING MAPS: TAXONOMIES OF AFRICAN PHILOSOPHY The problem of reason and the nature of African philosophy has many manifestations, but dealing with some version of the issue is almost an entrance requirement for one who works in the field. The problem, simply put, is this: What is "true" African philosophy, and what would it have to include in order to qualify as truly African, and also as truly philosophican Several , options emerge: one can maintain that African philosophy is philosophy done by those of African descent, regardless of the content of this philosophy (thus sacrificing any real link to Africanity other than identifying the practitioners). One can suggest that African philosophy must focus on African issues (whatever they are). Or, one might insist that African philosophy stems from African practices or belief systems (thus sacrificing "traditional" philosophical practice, particularly critique, in favor of describing the uncritical beliefs of a group of people). So, where does African philosophy truly lie? The question of the identity of African philosophy has been a central one for those espousing reason as the core value of philosophy itself. 1 intend to try to move beyond the relatively simplistic questions of whether there is an African philosophy (a question that Lucius Outlaw dismisses as racist, but which nevertheless persists). We will grant that African philosophy exists, even though problems may still exist, on the one hand in that the term's reach may exceed its grasp, and on the other hand in that philosophy itself may be so infused with Western assumptions that the term may be too tainted to be taken seriously. If we suppose that rational (reflective, critical) activity happens in any sustained life-world, the real issue is not whether or not African philosophy exists, but how it exists. The problem becomes acute for those who want to ascribe a kind of own~ ership to certain philosophical beliefs or texts. We are all familiar with myth of dispersion, in which anything creative in Africa is seen as having, originated somewhere else. The tactic of resistance to this racism has been to find ways to identify the non-derivativeness of African philosophy. Phil~so­ phers have a couple of ways to deal with ~uestions of this ~at~re. We might try to define African philosophy, or we might try to descnbe It. In the first case, the attempt is to find the unique conditions; in the second, the attempt is to outline the constituent parts of the field. Defining African philosophy is not like defining some discipline such as biology, where we say at the beginning "biology is the study of the processes

I. African philosophy could be the philosophy that happens to be done in

Africa. But that seems arbitrary - we could just as well talk of philosophy done by left-handed people. Still, there are African philosophers who have held something like this. The reason is simple-the more particularized you try to make African philosophy, the more you run the risk of not having it taken seriously by anyone else. 2. African philosophy could be philosophy done by a certain group of people-Africans, or those of African heritage. But it is very difficult to identify who counts and who doesn't. And in fact, some Africans do philosophy in which it is virtually impossible to determine the geographical or racial origin of the philosopher. So, there is no content that is delineated, and again we have something that seems pretty arbitrary. J. African philosophy could be philosophy directed at a certain object of study, the way philosophy of science is philosophy which reflects on issues raised, explicitly or implicitly, by science. This is better, but African philosophy seems to deal with many of the same issues that philosophy in general deals with - metaphysics, social philosophy, aesthetics. While we may say that African experience is unique, the way any group's experience is unique, it is difficult to see how philosophy has any relevance to reflection on particular experience. That is the realm of anthropology, sociology, or whatever. If philosophy is the impulse toward universals, how can we label a philosophy with a "localized" tag'! 4. Of course, it will be pointed out that we talk about Chinese philosophy, American philosophy, British philosophy, and so forth. What do we mean there'! Well, in almost all these cases it refers to a history of disciplined dialogue. There is a tradition of writing, critique of writings, and so forth. Paulin Hountondji argues that the central feature of African philosophy is a textual history: African philosophy equals African philosophical literature. African philosophy dues not lie in any implicit world outlook. It consists, instead, of a set of texts. These texts are records of an authentic battle over ideas and other intellectual dushes within society.s

Do we find this in African thought? Even if one recognizes a long intellectual heritage, dating, back hundreds or thousands of years in Egypt,

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Mali, Ghana, Ethiopia, and other places, has there been a sustained intellectual debate and development? If we ignore the last hundred years or so, many would say no. Of course, that assumes that disciplined dialogue occurs within models recognizable to Western thought, rath~r than in the development of systems of indigenous wisdom, and thus Jt raises the whole question of what "disciplined" means. Furthermore, one could argue that it was the African diaspora, particularly freed American slaves and their children, whose thought and writings spurred social thought in Africa. It seems to owe as much to Frederick Douglass, Marcus Garvey, W. E. B. Dubois, and others, as to thinkers from the African continent. 5. Is African philosophy a new method of philosophizing, or philosophy that starts from new assumptions? This is a familiar distinction-we often divide the western philosophical world between Anglo-American analytic philosophy and Continental philosophy. This does not so much designate geography, or even the origin of adherents (for many who would originate on the European continent, for example, might be identified with analytic philosophy). It has more to do with convictions on how philosophy should be done, and what its concerns should be. Analytic philosophy maintains that philosophy should be concerned: with the clarification of concepts and making reliable inferences from those concepts. Continental philosophy starts from the intuition that we cannot remove ourselves from the philosophical equation, and that taking the position of the thinker into account changes the concerns of philosophy. Is African philosophy a third option besides analytic or continental. philosophy? It does not seem so. Many African philosophers would see themselves as part of one or the other Western tradition, as well as part of the African tradition. 9 And, it does not offer a new insight on how philosophy should be done, nor should it be expected to do so. Sage philosophers have proposed a new "method," in the sense of a kind of. midwifery that enables the latent critical wisdom of certain people . emerge. But even this seems to be more an anthropological description of a technique for recording philosophical insight, rather than a new. philosophical insight of some sort. 6. Does African philosophy describe a certain collection of themes, ones having to do with colonialism, racism, or slavery, or some group ofthemes? Not likely. Any themes that might seem to qualify have been dealt with by other colonized peoples around the world. And, one has yet proposed a list of canonical themes that African ohilm!oo,helrs must deal with at the risk of not being African philosophers.

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7. Is it philosophy that has a certain goal? One might argue that, especially recently, philosophy in Africa has had to consider the demands of emancipation from colonialism, amelioration of social problems, and nation building. As Marx said, philosophers have attempted to interpret the world in various ways; the point, however, is to change it. The problem here is that much African philosophy seems to have little to do with emancipation. Much of it seems to be either description or conceptual analysis. And, many attempts to change Africa have little to do with philosophy. Clearly, it is difficult to know exactly what African philosophy is. Definilions are not easy to formulate, which is likely why most people do not even try. Most discussions begin with the question of the divisions within African philosophy, rather than its essential nature. As I have already suggested, the hcst way to think of African philosophy is in terms of its questions. In fact, the question is the key to philosophy-concepts or claims (usually the focal point of philosophical argument) are contingent on the kinds of questions we 115k. Claims are answers to questions, not the result of deduction from other &:iuims. The well asked question, then, should be the key to philosophical thought. Identifying a good (appropriate, incisive, critical) question must ,,'ome before any other methodological consideration. It is also possible to try to describe African philosophy by describing its lIIuvements or subdivisions. The various divisions have, of course, been the .uhject of great discussion and analysis. Most of it, unfortunately, has been of Ihe sort which simply reconfigures or renames the categories. The assumption hilS been that the ability to provide a taxonomy of philosophical styles or movemcnts, and argue for their merits, is enough to legitimate African philosophy IN II real branch of world philosophy. In other words, there has been an identity crisis, and the more detail or rigor one has in the taxonomy, the less one is able III tndy identify one strand as African philosophy. Many seem to admit this, while still arguing for a certain practice within the spectrum of options as being Ihe real thing, against those which almost but don't quite make it. So, what are these taxonomies? There are several, and it is worth givIng II brief overview of them. I will begin with Odera Oruka, who gives us nut one but two taxonomies. The first is his more famous "trends," listed in IICIvcrul places and reproduced by many writers. Most writers use an early list 01' ()ruka's in which he outlined four trends; later in Sage Philosophy: lndig,tum.I' Thinkers and Modern Debate on African Philosophy, he included two nlUre (hermeneutic and literary/artistic).10 The second taxonomy, which he ollils "schools" of African thought, can be found in the first chapter of Sage IW/o.l'Ophy. .

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Oruka's First Taxonomy: "Trends" 1. Ethnophilosophy: Ethnophilosophy had its beginning as a pejorative , term, popularized by Paulin Hountondji to distance "authentic" African philosophy from work originating in anthropology or religion. Placide Tempels (Bantu Philosophy) and Marcel Graiule (Conversations with Ogotemmeli), in different ways, investigate the Bantu-Rwandese and the Dogon people to bring to light beliefs held at the level of the culture rather than the individual (that is, beliefs that form the cultural backdrop of individual action). John Mbiti and Alexis Kagame similarly investigated Kenyan and Rwandan thought, respectively. What made this philosophical, in the minds of the proponents, was that this was not sim.ply the examination of ritual or custom, but that there were coherent belIefs about traditionally Western philosophical issues, such as the nature of time, the nature of the self, justice, ethics, and so forth. As mentioned, the term begins as one of reproach. Several Western trained African philosophers pointed out that describing beliefs of a group of people hardly qualified as philosophical. It had no critical edge, there were no arguments, there were no particular representatives of different positions. But, this beginning served to spur these philosophers, and others, to find alternatives. Many point to this as the starting point of the modern discussions of African philosophy. 2. Nationalist/Ideological Philosophy: Oruka groups another collection' of people together, who are concerned with issues of emancipation ~d ' nation-building. In this category he includes Kwame Nkrumah, Alme, Cesaire, Leopold Senghor, Julius Nyerere, and Jomo Kenyatta. This is a i category that one might best call "proto-philosophy," as the practitioners are rarely dedicated philosophers, and may well have an agenda of justifying particular political policies, rather than following reason in any dispassionate sense. 3. Professional Philosophy: The notable thing about this category is that, it does not so much designate a mode of doing African philosophy as it identifies the type of training that a particular group of philosophers had. Most of the philosophers in academic departments have been trained in the West. Many would just argue that African philosophy is nothing more' than philosophy done in Africa. The issues and methods are universal, or, there are minor differences. This category includes Kwasi Wiredu, " Hountondji, Peter Bodunrin, H. Odera Oruka, V. Y. Mudimbe, Tsenay, Serequeberhan, among others. 4. Sage Philosophy: Odera Oruka and others argue that there are sages that have internalized the wisdom of a culture and can articulate it in the form,

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of stories or reflections. This by itself does not make one a philosopher. There are some sages who take the next step, to critical reflection on the wisdom of their tradition. It is important to realize that the pursuit of such sages requires finding people who are as untouched by Western thought systems as possible. There are few writings in this tradition, except as they are recorded by professional philosophers like Odera Oruka. 5. Literary/Artistic Trend: Oruka recognizes that a number of writers and artists have addressed philosophical issues. This trend encompasses literary figures such as Ngugi wa Thiong'o, Taban 10 Liyong, Okot p'Bitek, Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka, and others, who have written philosophical essays. 6. Hermeneutic Trend: Oruka argued that a number of thinkers that could be taken to be doing sage philosophy (in that they were trying to identify philosophy in traditional Africa while being mindful of Hountondji's criticisms), were not in fact doing sage philosophy, but linguistic analysis. Such analysis provided the foundation for comparative philosophy. He identified Kwasi Wiredu and Kwame Gyekye here, for example, as well as the work of Hallen and Sodipo (and later just Barry Hallen). Oruka's use of the term "hermeneutic" does not refer to philosophers in (mainly) Francophone Africa who were inspired by Heidegger, Gadamer, Ricoeur, and others, such as Mbambi Monga Oliga. ll

Oruka's Second Taxonomy: "Schools" I. The Ethnographic School: This refers to those who rely on ethnographic studies as the basis for African philosophy. This category is more or less congruent with the ethnophilosophy category in the earlier taxonomy. He (dismissively) characterizes the school as follows: 'Ille argument of the ethnographic school is that African societies are fundamentully distinct and different from Western societies. The former are pre-scientific or lion-scientific, and the latter are scientific .... African philosophy is ... the reverse of the thought that comes as the outcome of theoretically and deducti vely reached infcrence. African philosophy is an existential experience conunon and obvious to 1111 members of the stock. Ba<;ic logical principles in the West such as the principle contradiction and of excluded middle have no room in African thought. The husk principle is that of a poetical self-involvement and self-realization that defies any Western logical formation. Perhaps the most un-Western, un-Aristotelean IISpect of philosophies such as Existentialism and Phenomenology may have some IIccidental affinity with African philosophy (20--21).

or

He further subdivides this school into the "ethnographic descriptivists," philosophers such as Tempels and Mbiti who simply want to give an ac-

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count of practices in Africa. and the "ethnographic rationalists," such as Robin Horton, E. A. Ruch, I. Onyewuenyi and K. C. Anyanwu, who want to work with the distinction between African and Western rationality by proposing ways in which the two mayor may not i~teract. Oruka is clear in his opinion about this "school." It IS the only one of the three to which he includes an extended "objection." Despite his objections, though, it is notable that these thinkers are still included. They are, in his opinion, bad philosophy, not non-philosophy, and they serve to fiB out a taxonomy that ultimately can legitimate Oruka's own preferre? modes of thought. This is even more apparent in the case of the trendS-It is an open question as to whether sage philosophy would have been seen as a separate method, were it not for Oruka's taxonomy. . 2. The Rationalist School: Oruka sees the rationalist school as a reaction against what he has already described in t~e ethn~gra~hic school. He includes thinkers such as Paulin HountondJI. Kwasl Wuedu, and Peter Bodunrin who believe that "philosophy, whether in the West or Africa, should be'distinguished from religion. mythology, and mysticism even if there is much intermingling between philosophy and these others" (26) .• Oruka argues that this school distinguishes be~ween first order .p~!loso- • phy ("a person's or a people's general unexammed ~utJook on hfe ) and, second order philosophy (Ha critical evaluation of thiS outlook and a free reflection on ideas and concepts as the mirrors of reality"). 3. The Hiswrical School: This school includes J. O. Sodipo, Claude Sumner, V. Y. Mudimbe, Lucius Outlaw, D. A. Masolo, Kwame Nkrumah, . Julius Nyerere, and Leopold Senghor. Oruka depicts thi~ school as th.ose . who "are mostly concerned with collecting and evaluatmg texts which, in their views, should be seen as important to the subject of African philosophy" (30). . . . 4. The Hermeneutical School: Oruka does not include thiS as an eXlstmg school, but as a project that is still in its infancy. He characterizes t~is in the same way that he did in his "trends," as linguistic philosophy. Whtle he says that the philosophical study of individual African languages has not yet gained much attention from African phi1os?ph~rs (ap~. from a couple he mentions, such as Victor Ocaya and Kwasl Wlredu). It IS unclear why. he failed to include the work of Barry HaUen and J. O. Sodipo on especially since he mentioned their work earlier in the chapter. Now neither of Oruka's taxonomies has been universally acclaimed, spite the widespread use of his "Trends." Lucius Outlaw. in "African losophy'?: Deconstructive and Reconstructive Challenges"12 lists a nUlnbc,r of other options.

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A. Smet and O. Nkombe13 I. Ideological: This is philosophy that reacts to "theories and prejudices which, in the past, supported the slave trade and later justified colonization."14 It includes African personality theory, Pan-Africanism, Negritude, African humanism, African socialism, scientific socialism, Nkrumah's Consciencism, and work on the idea of authenticity in an African context. 2. "Traditional" philosophy: This is philosophy which reacts to "the myth of the 'primitive mentality' of Africans which, through hermeneutical restoration, speaks of asserting the existence, solidity, and coherence of traditional African philosophies." :" Critical philosophy: Critical philosophy reacts to "theses or projects of the two preceding trends: it questions their validity and relevance." It is this group that critically applies the term "ethnophilosophy" to the second group. 4. Synthetic: This takes all of the preceding trends and the orientation of the data collected, and puts them toward a hermeneutical philosophy, a functional philosophy or a search for new problematics.

v. Y. Mudimbe15 I. Philosophy in the broad sense a. Ethnophilosophy: This is philosophy which demonstrates the unity and coherence of traditional African thought. The term is not used as negatively by Mudimbe as by others, such as Hountondji; he believes that there is room to investigate traditional wisdom as philosophical, and not reduce this to ethnography. b. Ideologico-philosophical: This addresses the situation of Africa in the present. 2. Philosophy in the narrow sense: This is philosophy that can be organized by its practices. These practices come in chronological order, and move toward a greater critical capacity: a. Reflection on the conditions of the possibility of African philosophy. b. Reflection on the significance of Western science for African contexts. c. Reflection on philosophy as a critical addition to the process of development. d. Reflection on philosophical hermeneutics.

We might continue this account of the various ways of sorting out Afrif.lan philosophy,16 but the reason for listing these taxonomies should noW be I.!I~ur-there is more than one way to map the terrain. Lucius Outlaw sees this plethora of taxonomies as the deconstructive moment in African philosophy.

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These exist as challenges to any sense of Western philosophy as definitive or universal, and raise the general questions of the rootedness of philosophy in history, gender, race, and other features of human existence. He argues that this fragmentation has a reconstructive moment as well. Universality and unity in philosophy is critiqued, and at the same time identity is earned by a kind of ground-up process of phronesis. But, one might point out, European philosophy hardly needed African philosophy to point this out. Deconstruction itself served the coup de grace to the pretensions of European philosophy in an assault begun by Nietzsche, feminism, and a host of other critical strategies. So, is the critique leveled by African philosophy merely a catharsis, a way of moving past the hegemony of the Empire to build something new? Or do we really have a deconstruction occurring here? Outlaw's point in this paper is to show that "philosophy," the enterprise rooted in historically contingent circumstances, serves as a deconstructive tool' for "Philosophy," the universalizing, dominating tradition of the West. The . problem that is glossed over, though, is that the moral commitments of deconstruction may be slim at best. Any reconstruction can itself be the next ground for deconstruction. If the particularity of African philosophy is successful. manifest through its ability to tum Western ways of mapping the territory on their heads, does the success not run the risk of becoming new abstract categories? The various attempts at the division of African philosophy are more than. simply descriptive, after all-they are research programs. Therefore they have to have an openness to the undetennined. That openness, if handled merely structurally, becomes abstracted, and the structural again risks becoming the victim of the post-structural. While African philosophy may be an Oedipal, moment in Philosophy, as Outlaw argues, the need for a philosophy of action seems to work against the critical agenda of post-structuralism. Outlaw's final comment in this essay is that philosophy is left universality and unity. But the fact is that the taxonomies preserve both these, even as they deconstruct the West. The crime of Western pnllo:soJm~ was to ignore contingent conditions in fonnulating its pronouncements; problem here is that the taxonomies risk reproducing the same structure at more limited level. We may simply have universality in a bounded context, which is not the same as particularity. Michel Foucault, in the famous preface to The Order of Things, tells discovering Borges' account of the Chinese encyclopedia, which gave following taxonomy to animals: (There is) a certain Chinese encyclopedia in which animals are divided into: a) belonging to the Emperor; b) embalmed; c) tame; d) sucking pigs; e) sirens; f)

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fabulous; g) stray dogs; h) included in the present classification; i) frenzied; j) innumerable; k) drawn with a very fine camel-hair brush; I) et cetera; m) having just broken the water pitcher; n) that from a long way off look like flies (FoucaUlt, The Order a/Things, preface. i).

The point, of course, is that the order of things has no necessary or natural litmcture, and the foreignness of this Chinese account of animals is no differellt than the ways we find to order our world. In the case of the taxonomies III' African philosophy, we have various attempts to order the world. Indeed, urdcring is the process of laying-claim-to. It is a map, and the more closely Iflllt map can be drawn, the less success a challenge is likely to have. Maps are IiLU:cessful if they can delimit the territory from what is outside (that is, define II), and if they can sufficiently detail the territory inside (that is, describe it). The maps in my road atlas (an American atlas that claims to include aU of North America) make clear that the United States is mapped in detail, and Ihcrcfore owned and accounted for. The map of Mexico in the same atlas is L'olltlned to one page, and gives the impression that little exists there. EmptiIless means absence, which suggests that the territory is up for grabs, or at h:ust is undefined and unknown, and perhaps not worth knowing. Historical limps of Africa show this even more starkly-the explorers of the nineteenth I.'ClItury gave the basis for Europe to lay claim to Africa. As the map of the Interior was filled in, it also became property, and not of those that lived there, hUl of those who made the maps. The process of mapping African philosophy is the process of resisting II long-held belief of Western philosophy: When it comes to Africa's intellectuallife, there is nothing there. The attempts at definition and the various I"xonomies suggest that the tenitory is owned, while the attempts to find the uniqueness (definition) of African philosophy amount to staking off this bit of lerritory from other adjacent, and traditionally hostile territories. Of course, many Western philosophers will not even allow that there is IllY territory to map. Most philosophers assume that philosophy is a universal '1IIcrprise, and geographical designations simply point out historical contin.encies, not essential differences. And, since the prejudice continues to exist lhut Africa has no history, particularly no intellectual history, it is hard for these philosophers to imagine where African philosophy might differ from Western. The conclusion is that mapping terrain that is merely imaginary does nm solve the problem. While the impulse to ownership is certainly understandable, given the histury of exploitation and colonization that Africa has been subject to, and given Ihe skepticism I have just mentioned. African philosophy needs to go beyond uilliming intellectual territory by simply mapping it. Mapping is a structural

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activity, which always suffers from over-determination and ambiguity. Asserting ownership of land by mapping it serves to marginalize other ways of understanding the use of the land. But, the land is more than the map, and no amount of reproducing the map with bold colors and thick lines can obliterate the ambiguity and the mUltiple meanings inherent in the land itself. This is the core of my concern with the strategy of defining and describing African philosophy. While the map may give the feeling that understanding has been achieved, it is not necessarily so. Like Foucault's description of animals in the Chinese encyclopedia, there is always another way of sorting out the world, and the fact that the new way may be unfamiliar does not in itself mean that it is wrong. So too, we get a plethora of taxonomies of African philosophy. Has this really told us anything? Do we know yet what African philosophy is? Is the strategy of defining and describing ever actually going to tell us that? In the final analysis, philosophy does not lie solely in the ability to map a realm of beliefs about the world. It lies in the critical interpretive ability to make a human world available. The question of whether we have a philosophy that is truly African is a function of asking a map-question. It divides the "us" and the "them" - but the question is still asked from the position of ' a tradition which made all the maps in the past, that is, Western philosophy. But if we re-ask the question, we may have the chance of avoiding the loaded Western question of who owns which property. ' The impulse to mapping as a form of ordering is understandable. The difficulty many have had in identifying the nature of African philosophy has been that there is a tension between the need for uniqueness and the need for membership in a universal conversation. Philosophy had to be about Africa" or invol ve Africans, or use uniquely African methods, or in some way demon- ' strate its uniqueness. If it was not unique, it risked being seen as a latlecc~mf:r in the field of philosophy, and would simply be seen as a political move which reinforced identity politics. On the other hand, what African thinkers, called philosophy had to be close enough to what the rest of the world ' philosophy, or it would simply be marginalized. What were the COlnD10flali.l\i ties? Universal methods, universal themes, universal critical reason. The argument is not one of dispersion or derivation, no matter how much some Western thinkers might want to make it that. Africa does not have intellectual life simply because it was given to them by others. based in phenomenology rather than rationalist epistemology has the I-IUI...,IU.I...· to attend to new questions while also recognizing duties to critical reason it appears elsewhere in the world of philosophy, and it is not, despite Oruka protestations to the contrary, simply another version of ethnophilosophy. So, yes, African philosophy is in conversation with Western philosophy-it could I

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hurdly avoid it, first being enslaved with philosophical rationalizations, then hcing marginalized by that philosophy, then being converted under it. But that ~'llIlversation does not dictate its identity.

NEW QUESTIONS ABOUT REASON My argument to this point might be seen as largely negative. I have tried to rl!sbt the standard account of reason within an African context, that it is a hUllle between universalism and particularism (or relativism). I have focused IlIl what reason does, rather than on what it is. It has its strategies (e.g., map(ling as ordering) and its moral commitments. The point has been that if we Himply take the standard question about African philosophy as our starting Ix)int, we are forced into allegiance with one side or the other of a tension, or (uhernatively) have to negotiate the uncomfortable space in between. But this kllsion has largely come about because of a commitment to a question asked elsewhere than in Africa. I would like to consider the ordering nature of reason in African philosophy. To do this, though, I would like to raise some questions about reason which will guide the discussion. These questions are not new in the sense that I,hey have never been asked before, but are new in the sense that they arise from starting from a different place then the standard problematic in African phi losophy. Too often the nature of reason has been taken as a gi ven, and then the only question is whether Africa "measures up" to that standard. If, however, we do not immediately grant that reason is a-historical and a-cultural, hili that it is rooted in human concerns, we can frame the issues in Africa lIIore fairly, and (I believe) retain a version of universality that will allow Africans and others to more fairly address local concerns while maintaining ,'ullonal and critical discourse across cultural boundaries.

What is the goal of reason?

IN the goal of reason the production of knowledge? Is it the production of nr discovery of truth? Is it to find the solution of African problems? Is it the IHtublishment of African philosophy? Notice that I do not start by asking about the nature of reason, but the (Intended) outcome of reason. This might suggest a functionalist approach til reason, but in fact I am more interested in reframing the issue differently Ihun from the usual manner, that is, asking whether African reason measures up to Western scientific thought. That question circumvents the possibility "I' considering reason in cultural contexts outside of Western modernism as

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both pragmatic and abstract interaction with lived conditions. Asking about the goal of reason assumes that there is intentional thought happening, and ' that such thought may also be philosophical as it articulates the meaning of lived experience and provides the basis for the construction of claims to truth and knowledge. None of this suggests that there are questions that should not be asked, but rather that all questions have duties, and that we as those who entertain questions need to carefully reflect on the duties of our questions. To continually ask whether African philosophy exists is to assume that its existence needs to be proven while that of other traditions does not. So, all questions may be asked, but all questions may also be questioned.

Borders How do we demarcate reason from other activities of humans? How do we . demarcate it from other activities of the mind? Is it the process of reason that. demarcates it? Is it the starting point? Hegel thought that it was tied to who engaged it (Africans, for him, were by definition not capable), What are the alternatives (or foes) to reason, and how do they structure what we think of as . reason? Is the alternative to or enemy of reason superstition, and if so, what kind? Is it tradition? Barbarity? Disorder? Madness? Myth? The passions? Self•.. interest? On the other hand, is it the tendency to think of the group first? The argument for reason is an argument in the face of a threat, and that threat may be different in different places, rendering the trajectory and development of reason different. Raising the question of the other of reason a]]ows us to see that reason in any place is pressing against non-reason, however that· is conceived, and is seen as the solution to social problems. This in itself does not mean that every rational system is equivalent to every other, but it does mean that, for societies that have sustained themselves over time, there must be a way of rationalizing the problems that they face. This question is also meant to take the edge off of the usual debate about reason in Africa. Do spirits exist or not? Is there such a thing as These metaphysical questions are really questions of reason (how do know?), and are usually brought up to demonstrate that African reason inferior to Western science. Universalists would simply argue that we to consider the alternate propositions, and adopt the one that has the compelling evidence. But if reason is not limited to the rationalization propositions, but has a wider scope, then it is possible to ask about the and intellectual questions such beliefs provide an answer to. After all, the privilege has historically been accorded to theology within the West. are many paradoxes and mysteries within faith, but it is also clear that a deal of advanced philosophical thought has come about throughout the

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uf philosophy precisely because those tensions were negotiated with skill, inIIight, intelligence, and courage. Augustine and Aquinas are good examples of Ihi!i kind of rational thought that grows from trying to rationalize intellectual lIystems that do not easily fit together, and we could include religious thinkers up to the present time, such as Kierkegaard, Buber, and Ricoeur, We might IIls() include scientific thinkers, as questions at the cutting edge of many fields Nccm as if they embody tensions and paradoxes. The goal, of course, is to ralionalize such tensions, but in fact, some of them are particularly intractable, lind have led to the development of rational strategies which have advanced ~L'icnce, Science is better for having dealt with the contradictions between relativity theory and quantum theory, for instance, because it has developed tools lind approaches that would not have otherwise been available. The point is that, even for those who think that religion in the West ought III be excised from the philosophical project, it is difficult to argue that a great lleal of important philosophical work has occurred when religion was taken IIcriously, or when other seemingly incommensurate systems of meaning or clI.planatory models were taken seriously. No less should be accorded to Afri1:1111 philosophy. To deny the possibility of working through tension and conlrudiction by requiring that African philosophy always take modem Western JlI:icntitic rationality into account, is to deny the possibility of the production til' lIew concepts, a possibility that the West itself has benefited from greatly. The other side of this, of course, is that African scholars then will have to take JllIch tensions seriously, and work at thinking past the obvious initial incommenNurubility of propositions or beliefs. In other words, new questions will need to emcrge, ones that do not simply fall into the either/or pattern of affirming either Western scientific rationality or traditional wisdom. These must be allowed to Intcrrogate each other, and interrogate the questioner at the same time.

How are the uses of LLreason" linked? ,IIII' example,

I am treating reason as an activity. But there is a long history of reason as a faculty or capability of the mind (one might call this "rationlllity" instead). It could also be the description of an event. Tn the first case, l'Cason is about what we do; in the second, it has to do with who we are; in Ihe third, it has to do with our apprehension of intention or order. Even in the I.'tide on rationality in Blackwell's Companion to Epistemology, nine senses III' I'IIlionality are identified, all having to do with the production and defense Ill' pn)positions.1 7 lf we were willing to refocus rationality on questions rather Ihull propositions, we would find even more senses. If we are willing to consider the possibility that there are different versions III' reason, we are led to the question of how they relate to each other, Paget llel: ing

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Henry has a particularly good analysis of this question in Caliban's Reason. IS Henry critiques Habermas's critique of technocratic reason in his early work on communicative rationality. As an Enlightenment thinker, Habermas strives for universality in reason, but recognizes that it does not currently exist. Our forms of communication govern the kinds of reason that can occur. Henry points out that for Habermas (and Husserl), mythic thought is the "other" of rationality. Habermas dismisses most African thought because it is totalizing, it does not penetrate the surface of what it perceives, it confuses or levels different domains of existence. it needs to be analyzed sociologically, and it is closed and rigid. 19 Henry argues that we should see "mythic thought" not as an enemy of rationality (as Habermas has it), but as an ally. Myth's goals are different from discursive rationality. Henry draws upon Fanon, Sartre, and Lewis Gordon to argue that mythical reasoning is crucial to ego construction, and is an important corrective to the "blind one-sidedness of the project of technocratic reason." Henry's analysis is particularly useful in that it recognizes that reason is a process, not a faculty, and that forms of reason that are brought to bear on each other can have useful and positive consequences. There is, of course, . risk-forms of reason can also be mutually inhibitive or destructive as well. But in fact, reason must risk, not only risk being wrong but risk its own identity, for philosophy to emerge. If we simply fetishize logical reasoning, we . have done nothing more than make it into a religious object. Kierkegaard rec- . ognlzed this in Concluding Unscientific Postscript. Logical reason becomes most potent when it has to take into account other forms of reason. One obvious objection will be that there is. in fact, only one form of reason, ' and that is logical reason. Anything else is not really reason at all. Recall, though, that this started with the question of the uses of reason rather than the essence of reason. But further than that, there is still a set of commitments that undergirds a commitment to logical reason as primary. First among those is that the function of reason is to support propositions or beliefs. Reason, therefore, is a means to an end, which is the establishment of true propoS\tions (that is, the defense of knowledge). My argument here is not to this use of reason, but to move the issue from the analysis of claims to analysis of questions, and to establish that reason is not a terminal ending in reliable propositions, but is an ongoing process in which new of understanding the world are generated.

Are reason and order necessarily linked? How is order rational, and when is it not? Is showing that something has order equivalent to showing that it is rational? And, what is being

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II seems that in many discussions of reason, we start with beliefs or propo.!lions about the world or the self, and it is these that are put into order. The universal/particularist tension becomes important at this point, as it will become apparent that some beliefs or propositions cannot be held at Ihe same time. Universalism, then, is the position that ultimately one belief (II' position will win out, and others will be abandoned; particularism is Ihe position that one belief or position will not win out, and we may find tlurselves in mUltiply ordered realities. All of this depends on what is being mdered, though. If We suppose that reason (and by extension, philosophy) IN about the ordering of mental contents, we will reach a different conclulIioll than if we think that reason is about the ordering and interrogation of liliestions. Ilow might one order questions, rather than claims? To Some extent, the 1)l'Uclices of ordering questions are not different from ordering claims. In bUlh we are concerned about contradictions, but in the case of questions, i.:ol1tradictions should drive us to ask about the meaning of the questions liNked, rather than just whether truth values are the same or not. More imJl0l1antly, though, the interrogation of questions must always interrogate Ihe questioner at the same time as it interrogates someone else. If we move, fill' instance, from assessing the claim "Witches exist" to the question "Do WilChes exist?" or "What would it mean for witches to exist?" or "What pl'lll..:tices are we identifying under the heading 'witchcraft,' and how do those practices cohere or fail to cohere into a metaphysical understanding ul' lhe world?" or even "What philosophical questions become available in a world in which we take witchcraft seriously?" we first have to start analyzlug the concepts and words used in the questions (an activity that produces Inure questions). But secondly, we also inevitably turn the question back on ourselves. Why is this worth focusing on as a point of cultural exchange? What are our cultural assumptions about the nature of witches that may lead UN It, misunderstand the significance of this cultural role in another place? AmI, do different disciplinary ways of framing witchcraft make interesting philosophical questions available? One particularly interesting treatment of this approach can be found in Burry Hallen's African Philosophy: The Analytic Approach. In a chapter titled "Witches as Superior Intellects: Challenging a Cross-Cultural SuperM,llion,"20 Hallen recounts a philosophy course he taught in which he asked lH'!Veral professors from different disciplines to lecture about witchcraft. "he students wanted a clear answer-which one was right? But Hallen has • more interesting point to make. He recognizes that the way in which his uwn discipline of philosophy approaches the question of witchcraft has liN own assumptions. He draws on his own past work to point out that a

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closer examination of Yoruba culture discloses fine distinctions that differentiate the onts e gun from its usual interpretation as a "witch-doctor." More importantly, though, the scholarship on witchcraft in Yoruba society turns out to be shot through with Western assumptions about the nature of witches that make it difficult to understand Yoruba culture and instead serve to project a Western preoccupation onto a foreign culture. Hallen skillfully shows that our interrogation of witches really interrogates us, whether we stand in the West looking in or stand in the culture in which "witches" have cultural currency.

Where does reason find its proper place? Can reason be related to place? Does this necessarily imply cultural or lin- . guistic relativism? Does it merely imply partiality? If we regard reason as acting upon mental contents, in the form of beliefs or propositions, is it possible to take place seriously in a non-relativist manner? If, on the other hand, we regard reason as acting upon meanings and questions first. and only then upon beliefs and propositions, is it possible to see reason as supporting or leading to knowledge? The tendency of universalist approaches to reason is to see reason as having no place. And yet, as I have argued, reason responds to existing conditions and raises human meaning to reflection. The tools of univer- . salized reason are still important, but what is often not noticed is what goes into preparing claims for rational reflection. A shorthand develops in the interests of producing claims and making them ready for the use of rational tools. We can return to an example just used: what, for instance, is witchcraft? When philosophers argue over whether witchcraft exist scant attention is paid to the myriad senses that this term might take, or· the different uses to which the term is pUt. 21 At the most basic level, this involves clarification of terms, but it means more than this. . what witchcraft means in a cultural context must precede the evaluation its status as a claim to knowledge, in the same way that understanding meaning of religious, social, and ethical claims in Western culture precede the evaluation of their status as knowledge. The rational Qu~eSIllon in African philosophy is not, then, over whether it is reasonable to "witchcraft," but rather. what are the meaningful experiences that we lect under the heading, and how belief at various levels and in various might become rational. If a belief in witchcraft remains a living option some within a cultural setting, how can it become rational when put in context of competing systems of meaning? And, what do these ,",VIll!-""",n. systems illuminate about the life-world which they reflect upon?

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Uow has reason developed in different places or for different purposes? llow does its development in Africa differ from the development elsewhere? What questions have rational practices addressed, and in what context have they developed? The questions to this point have suggested that reflection on the development of the instruments, patterns, and questions of reason are crucial to (and lUust occur prior to) the evaluation of propositions and beliefs. Reason does llOl occur anywhere in purely abstract form, and I will include the most forlIIulized systems in this claim. It always comes as the result of debates over method, along with attempts to rule out alternate claims to knowledge. What we now think of as universalist philosophical reasoning can be seen as emergIng from the reaction against Aristotelian thought in the Renaissance, through the development of Enlightenment reason, and the rise of positivism in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, along with a host of other debates IlIId developments. At each juncture, the methods of reason were shaped by their historical debates. Later those debates dropped from sight, and we were left with methods that seemed to come from nowhere. They did not-they remain answers to specific questions that developed over time. None of this suggests that reason is subjective, but it does mean that it is l)urtial, and contingent on its own history of formation. It comes expressed Illld encased in traditions. These traditions have porous boundaries-they lire not Wittgensteinian language games that require mystical leaps to move hctween. The point here is that reason comes from somewhere. If it had a history of development in the West, why would it be so strange to imagine that reason I" it develops outside of the West has different reference points, different rormative questions, and different modes of operation? None of these tradilIon1' are impervious to cross-tradition reflection, but we should never forget thut reason remains rooted in human concerns. Just as the methods of rational Inquiry in the West benefited from both materialist versions of empiricism as well as quasi-theistic versions of German dialectical philosophy, so too Africun philosophy should be allowed to rigorously reflect on its intellectual roots IUO the concerns that have animated it, and it should furthermore be allowed 10 interrogate other traditions, and allow their formative questions to come to Ihe surface. Some of this has already happened. Emmanuel Eze's Race and Enlightenment. for instance, has brought to the surface how issues of race were central, and not just incidental, to the formation of eighteenth and nineteenth century European philosophy,22 It is difficult, after Eze and others, to Ilinore this aspect of Kant, Hume, Hegel, and others, just as it became difficult

"'c-

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Questioning Reason

to ignore Heidegger's political commitments in the formation of his thought after Victor Farias' work.

"I' witchcraft also exhibits generative rationality-in understanding the ways III which the onls e gun really do embody a rational system, we can find new wuys of questioning both Yoruba culture and our own disciplinary tools for Ihe creation of knowledge. These and other examples have in common that Iheir ability to bring critical judgment to bear does not shut down thought, but ruther suggests new avenues for concepts that could be useful in both African c,'ultures and elsewhere. It is important to recognize that generative rationality is not relativist in the .Irong sense, since there is no appeal to place as a limiting or excluding facIIII' 10 reason. In other words, the move that some particularists might make, 10 see African reason as justifiable simply because it is rooted in African Iwdition and culture, cannot be supported by itself. Tradition and culture are 110 guarantee of the adequacy of rationality. However, we could use an evolutionary model to argue that reason which grows from lived conditions may hllve ways of being adequate or true to those conditions which are not immediately apparent to conscious reflective thought. To simply unreflectively IIl'ccpt a mode of thought because it emerges from a culture is no better than IIll1'ctlectively rejecting it because it does not seem to live up to some exterlIul standard. Just as organisms that are introduced into a new biosphere may llmninate that new context because the local life has not developed defenses liltuinst such an invader, forms of rationality that developed in response to 10cuI 4uestions can also be overwhelmed by invaders that pay no heed to the 10cuI conditions. The price that is paid, though, is that the gap between the form IIl'rationality that emerged in response to other questions, and the subjectivity Ihut is being forced to deal with the invader, is very large, and the loss to the putential for the generation of new concepts is enormous. This organic/evolutionary metaphor has its limits; however, the point reItIllins that the encounter between forms of reason that develop in response to dIfferent questions is one that only increases rational judgments, rather than decreases them, and only adds to the concepts available to philosophy, rather Ihun muddying the waters.

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Is particularism in connection with reason equivalent to relativism? What I have said so far should lead us to suspect that we are not necessarily faced with relativism. We need to distinguish between normative rationality: and descriptive rationality (or naturalized epistemology). We often imagine that reason comes with moral implications about its use. For a universalist, we suppose that if a position is shown to be wrong or untenable, the ethical arguer will abandon that position in favor of a more adequate one. We assume . that there are rules to the game of reason that have been developed over time, and the refusal to accept those rules (for example, the refusal to accept the rules of Aristotelian logic without a very good reason) is unethical, in the con- . text of rationality. Oruka essentially argued this line in The Rational Path. One way around this is to argue that rationality is really descriptive rather. than normative. In other words, some might want to simply examine the ways in which people actually engage and deploy reason in various contexts (cultural or otherwise), and consider how they might be more or less adequate to their situations. But this naturalized epistemology may seem like an abdication of responsibility on the part of the philosopher. If we are merely describing the nature of reason rather than contributing to judgment, we seem to be doing psychology or anthropology rather than philosophy. This is a criticism· of ethnophilosophy. I would like to suggest a third category, which I will call "generative rationality." Generative rationality takes seriously the philosopher's mandate to provide judgment, but it takes descriptive rationality seriously by It;;\.Ul';lU....U.!;' that such judgment lies as a task rather than as something already U.... IU"",~ in a set of rules or principles. Put negatively, generative rationality normative rationality'S conviction that the standard of reason lies accomplished in rules that have developed in the West, and it avoids rI~"~~"·L·· tive rationality's abdication of the discussion of standards and outcomes reason to cognitive psychology. Generative rationality also takes "t;;llUU''''Y the idea that reason is an ethical activity, that it is rule-governed, but also the rules do not comprehensively define the practice of reason (that is, do not exist apart from the practice of reason itself). It allows rational tems to emerge and develop in contact with each other, not in a fashion by determining which is "better," but by determining how a rational system can be adequate to the creation of new concepts in a particular One example ofthis has already been mentioned-Paget Henry's recovery mythic thought in the face of Habermas's rejection of it. Hallen's disCU~ssi()n

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Are reason and philosophy co-extensive terms?

iii I,hilosophy the highest expression of reason? Philosophers take for granted Ihlll this is the case. Perhaps it is time to reconsider this assumption. I am less Inlerested in arguing for non-rational moments in philosophy (others have hlken this route) than suggesting that disciplines have developed different Mlrlltegies of rationality that can inform philosophy. This is most apparent In Ihe African context as we recognize that a great deal of work on and in Africa is done by other disciplines, including work on the edges of what

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could be recognized as philosophy. This is true in part because of the malleable character of non-institutionalized philosophy, but also because even within an institutional context, the concepts that philosophers deal with are . in a constant state of revision and development by those other disciplines. There is a tendency to think that philosophy in Africa can just focus in on the universal concepts that lie beneath the life-world of individuals and societies .. But in fact, some of the philosophy is available as we reflect on the ways in which other disciplines have analyzed Africa, and the assumptions they have brought with them. In some cases, those assumptions may be little more than ' the projections of Western desire or other such categories, but in some cases the other disciplines may weIl have provided objects of philosophical analysis and contexts for that analysis to occur. The most obvious site for this is anthropology. There has often been al struggle between philosophers and anthropologists in Africa, over what it • means to fairly represent a structure of knowledge, how such a structure might be evaluated, and what the goal of such a representation might be. Ethnophilosophy has rightly been criticized as elevating descriptions of rational activities and life-worlds to the status of philosophy without considering; questions of judgment. However, with this criticism, it is sometimes thought that anthropology has nothing to say to philosophy, that it is only engaged in the description of localized patterns of rationality and so has little to say about judgment, or about the intersection of forms of rationality. This, however, is not the case, certainly not for recent anthropological work. If our definition of rationality moves away from the defense of propositions and beliefs, and . toward the analysis of questions with a view to the creation of new articula-' tions and evaluations of life-worlds, anthropology can be an important conversation partner with African philosophers. The key is for philosophy to recognize that anthropology is not the as it was at the beginning of African philosophy. HaIl en is again useful, but this time critically. The first chapter of his recent African Philosophy: Analytic Approach is a critique of social anthropology called "Analytic losophy and 'Traditional' Thought: A Critique of Social Anthropology."23 critique is of a version of anthropology represented by Robin Horton, texts in the '60s and '70s. In fact, though, social anthropology has bec:ome: much more sophisticated since the time it was dominated by structuralist functionalist approaches. While versions of functionalism are still there are anthropologists who are much more interested in recognizing cal thought within cuItures. 24 As well, there are others influenced by studies, phenomenology, and hermeneutics who are willing to re(;01l:ml~e human agency, as well as the fluid and adaptive nature of all cultures. tendency to see African cultures as wholly distinct from the West is in

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minority, and this can only bode well for useful conversations across disciplinary boundaries.

IN reason reducible to method? If so, to what extent is that method tied to the moral virtue of being "disciplined"? What is disciplined thinking? What makes reason rigorous? This question arises in part from the historical charges against Africans. Thc idea that rationality was impossible in Africa was tied to the idea that Ihinking was undisciplined, that it did not have a sense of proper order or I'lIles, and that it was impervious to critique from the outside. I have already IIl'gued against a purely descriptive rationality, which would undermine the need for discipline at anything but a local level, and a purely normative I'IILionality, which would tend to overlook the relationship between reason IIml local questions that reason is based in. And, I have also maintained that 1'lIlionality is always based in morality, such that generative rationality is concerned with constructing and following rules of reason that are agreeable to 1111 participants in a rational conversation. Reason is an ever-present activity we engage in, rather than a tool that we use or do not use, or which we find III some person or culture or fail to find. We make judgments, we engage in critical thought as a means of coping with our complex cultural meanings. Thllt does not mean that one judgment is as good as another, but it means that Ihe way to engage in reason is not to first decide who does or does not have it, or (on the other hand) to simply assert that it is abstractly universal, imbedded In rules that reside above the human sphere. Rationality does matter, indeed, IIl~ic matters. But to suppose that we have exhausted rationality by the apJ,lication of Aristotle's rules of logic, or that rationality exists in the abstract, he fore any human content, deprives us of being able to see the rationality that ~ucs exist at a local level, and which may not conform to our expectations. Reason is not the same as method, but it is disciplined. Our methods simply make our potential misunderstandings or mistakes apparent. Methodical 'Iuestioning forces us to interrogate all the aspects of a cultural issue, as well IN ourselves. But that methodical questioning does not guarantee that knowl.uge will be available at the other end. Philosophy is not positivist science. lIeing disciplined in philosophy must mean something different than just the pJ'lIctice of confirming what we know and then building on it. This would be tu I'cduce what is being examined to an object apart from the examiner. But Ifl fllct, we are implicated in that knowledge. Being disciplined, then, requires IUl1lething more than positivism. The purpose of raising these questions is to reframe the discussion about /'Clillon, away from using it. as a shibboleth for African philosophy and to-

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wards recognizing it as a universal human activity that has particular, partial manifestations and concerns. The discussion of reason needs to be moved from the classification and evaluation of propositions to the uncovering and critical evaluation of meaning within a particular context.

NOTES 1. See, for example, D. A. Masolo, African Philosophy in Search of Identity, ch. 8; Philip Higgs, "African Philosophy and Postmodem Rationality" in South ~fric~n Journal of Philosophy 20, no. 2 (2001): 215-27; Amy Stambach, "The RatIOnalIty Debate Revisited" in Reviews in Anthropology 28, no. 4 (2000): 341-52. 2. Didier Kathagawani and Jeanette G. Malherbe. "African Epistemology" in The. African Philosophy Reader, P. H. Coetzee and A. P. J. Roux, eds. (London: Routledge, 1998): 207. 3. Paulin Hountondji, African Philosophy: Myth and Reality, Second edition (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996), 56. . . 4. Barry Hallen, A Short History of African Philosophy (Bloommgton: IndIana University Press, 2002), 48. . 5. Robert Bernasconi, "African philosophy's challenge to continental philosophy" in Postcolonial African Philosophy: A Reader, Emmanuel Eze, ed. (Oxford, England: Blackwell, 1997): 188. 6. Hans-Georg Gadamer, "The Power of Reason" in In Praise of Theory: Speeches and Essays (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1998): 37. 7. Note other attempts to define African philosophy: Kwast Wiredu, "On Defining African Philosophy" in African Philosophy: The essemial readings. Tsenay Serequeberhan, ed. (St. Paul, Minn.: Paragon House, 1991); 87-110. 8. Paulin Hountondji, "Intellectual Responsibility: Implications for Thought Action Today, 50th Anniversary Fulbright Lecture" in Proceedings and Addresses fhe APA 70, no. 2 (November 1996): 83-84. 9. The problem is iIlustrated in the recent Edinburgh Companion to 20th tury Philosophies (Edinburgh 2007), edited by Constantin Boundas and Dut,lisl1e(}' in North America as the Columbia Companion to 20th Century Philosophies York: Columbia University Press, 2007). The volume jg divided into analytic continental philosophy, and almost as an afterthought, there is a separate section the end containing cultural philosophies. I wrote the section on African phiIO!.op
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12. Lucius Outlaw, "African 'Philosophy'?: Deconstructive and reconstructive ('hallenges," in On race and philosophy (London: Routledge, 1996): 51-73. 13. O. Nkombe andA. J. Smet, "Panorama de Ia PhilosophieAfricainecontemporar_ HiIlC," Recherches Philosophiques Africaines, Vol. 3: Melanges de Philosophie Aji'icaine (Kinshasa, Zaire: Faculte de Theologie Catholique. 1978): 263-82; A. J. SllIct, Histoire de la Philosophie Africaine Comemporaine: Courants et Problems (K irlshasa, Zaire: FacuJte de TMologie Catholique, Departement de Philosophie et I
Chapter Four

"Wisdom Is Actually Thought"l

RETHINKING SAGE PHILOSOPHY In the ongoing battles over what counts as "real" African philosophy, sage Ilhilosophy has emerged as an important research program. It is difficult to Imagine an introduction to African philosophy that did not include at least one paper by H. Odera Oruka, or some examples of the beliefs or arguments ur these putative sages. Oruka's other claim to fame in the world of African philosophy is the influential "trends," previously discussed in the chapter on reason. Originally four in number (ethnophilosophy, professional philosophy, nationalist-ideological philosophy, philosophic sagacity), and later expanded by two (literary-artistic philosophy, hermeneutic philosophy), his ordering of the world of African philosophy forms the backdrop for all later attempts to understand African phiION'.phy by structuring it. Just as it would be difficult to avoid mentioning Ilige philosophy in a respectable survey of African philosophy, it would be difficult to not start from Oruka's trends, even if only to improve on them. One might suspect that there is a relationship between sage philosophy and Ihe trends. In fact, detractors of sage philosophy might argue that the trends did as much to establish sage philosophy as a legitimate branch of African philosophy as did the arguments concerning its legitimacy or nature or its "wn research program. The ordering of the philosophical world cleared a "pllce for sage philosophy, and it is no accident that the more seriously that ,"dcring was taken, the more seriously sage philosophy was taken. Indeed, Ihe amorphous character of some of the other categories (e.g., professional philosophy) may contribute to the appearance of the superiority of sage phiIOHophy as much as any positive argument it makes for its own method. 99

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That being said, it is probably too much to suggest that sage philosophy flourishes only because an influential taxonomy created a space for it to do • so. Oruka has taken to heart the criticisms of ethnophilosophy leveled by Hountondji, Bodunrin, and others. While he has resisted the marginalization of African philosophy as folk wisdom. he has also paid heed to the need for philosophy to be rooted in a particular life world. Sage philosophy seems to solve the longstanding dilemma of African philosophy-how can it be both. truly African and truly philosophy simultaneously?2 Of course, not everyone believes that the solution is a completely successful one. Professional philosophers have charged sage philosophy with really being ethnophilosophy in disguise, and as rudimentary and uninteresting be· ' cause the modem world of philosophy has not been seriously eng aged. 3 Others i. suspect that the reliance on researchers trained in Western philosophy means that there is more of the West in the project than it may seem on the surface. 4 Again, some object to the primarily descriptive nature of the project. s Another objection is that philosophy must originate in or work with written texts, and both sage philosophy and ethnophilosophy fail on this count. 6 And, one might suspect that sage philosophy is irrelevant because ethnophilosophy could be 'I revamped by removing the more obvious biases of Western philosophy while , retaining the collective and descriptive nature of the enterprise. My purpose in this chapter is to rethink the nature of sage philosophy. ] will attempt to critique the project using its own assumptions, and the positions. of the sages themselves. While sage philosophy purports to overcome the dilemma inherent in African philosophy, it turns out that it imports Western philosophy much more than it seems. But this critique does not imply that sage philosophy should be abandoned.' If we consider the project at a deeper level, it is possible to see that it ceeds despite itself, and that reflection on its own methods holds forth that it can develop its own understanding of its rootedness in place, one does not simply draw on Western categories, but can exist within the of philosophy. It can dialogue as a peer with Western philosophy by £,..·OUflT.a on the sages themselves.

OVERCOMING ETHNOPHILOSOPHY Sage philosophy emerged as a response to the problems of so-called nophilosophy. What were these problems? The charges are familiar to philosophers-ethnophilosophy does not have a critical edge, but is descriptive; it is anonymous, in the sense that no particular person holds specific views, but they are ascribed to a group; ethnophilosophy

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Illizes to all Mrica, and thus covers over deep internal difference; ethnophilolIophy is fraught with all the problems that any ethnographic research has in \,'lIflturing meaning. It is this last difficulty that is most interesting. Oruka is at pains to distance Nuge philosophy from social anthropology (or ethnography) and oral history.7 These research practices could look superficially like his own project, in Ihlll they all involve interviews, they all focus on the beliefs of people, they lIIay require variants on participant observation. His objection to these other research programs is that they are focused on finding community consensus. SlIge philosophy, on the other hand, looks for expert understanding, at the most basic level as the ability to understand and communicate the wisdom Ill' the people creatively, and more importantly, as the ability to critique that wisdom. The most important objective, as Oruka puts it, is "to get persons (wise persons) who can offer an Archimedes stand for understanding and explaining the cultural or belief system of a given people."s Ilow is this accomplished? First, one must identify the subjects of the Nludy: the sages. Sages are, of course, the repositories of wisdom in the socil:ty. There are, in almost every society, certain statements considered wise IIuyings, as opposed to others, which are commonplace. The wise sayings are lIuid by men or women considered wise, and the sayings often pass into comilion parlance, to the point that after a time it may be difficult to identify who originally said these things.9 In fact there are three types of sayings: wise, commonplace, and foolINIl. Wise statements exist in a context, such that they may be wise in one I:uliure, yet appear foolish in another. Some sayings, however, must be able In transcend the cultural spheres. Oruka gives examples of all three types of llillements: n. lWise] As things come to be and cease to be, so our problems will come

to an end. b. lCommonpla<.'e] Every human being needs food. c. lFoolish] 1 do not care what happens when I die so I will make sure I spend 1111 I bave before I die.

Once the subjects have been identified, the conversation can begin. The cunversation with the sages works from a stock set of questions. but proceeds uutside the bounds of these questions: The searcher introduces a topic to the informant (a sage), whereupon the informant is allowed to talk or philosophize freely about the topic. He/she is guided NO as to emphasize the importance of such a topic to Ihe life and culture of the wmmunity. The researcber is free to raise objections and challenges to the points

Chapter 4

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made by the infonnant. The two are supposed to discuss as partners in an argument. The so-called academic training or superiority of the researcher should not be allowed to dictate the style of the discussion. The infonnant is free to alter the 1o topic raised or even !.lise and discuss the topics of his/her own speciaJ interest.

pher knows how reason and disciplined inquiry are supposed to work. But, III making the reasonable positions of the sages manifest, it is quite possible Ihnt the positions are simultaneously being made Western. Indeed, in the Illtcr discussion of the nature of wisdom and critique, I will argue that this is exactly what is happening. Overcoming the research programs of ethnophilosophy and social anthropology requires another move. Ethnography in the mid-twentieth century Wns essentialist-it attempted to reflect or uncover true African experience. Meaning, it was assumed, was located in the identification of the common prm;tices and belief structures of a group of people. Ethnography (apart from Inure recent, phenomenological ethnography and ethnomethodology) was a field dominated by structuralism, which suggested that the description of the Nignifiers in a culture was the important thing, and how they related to the lived experience of specific people was irrelevant. At its worst, this structural!PHil amounted to a kind of science-envy in a discipline eager to establish its Illude of operation as reliable, objective, and truthful. Understanding had little In do with what individuals actually thought, but rather had to do with individual and group practices that implied belief structures, and had the virtue of hdng amenable to objective examination, codification, and analysis. Whether in ethnophilosophy or ethnography, Africans become the object llf study, rather than interlocutors in a dialectical process of truth-making. For Ihe ethnophilosophers, the fact that the group is the focal point makes any uhjections by individuals irrelevant. Individuals may be the repositories of InuJition and myth, but since they also have their idiosyncrasies, any diverMC'nee from the general belief is insignificance. Disagreement is not valued All critique, but marginalized as aberration. Structuralist ethnogmphy, on the other hand, can distance the experience of individuals from the analysis of their structures of meaning. Once ritual, custom, or practice is distilled from the field "data," the connection with the subject ends. Again, the individual need not figure in the analysis, and no real conversation needs to take place. Sage philosophy can be seen as an attempt to address the central problem In hoth ethnography and ethnophilosophy-the African is not involved as a peer in a cooperative project of construction or discovery, but remains a mute lext, unable to recognize. resist or even comment on coercive readings impused upon him or her. Sage philosophy uses the tools of analytic philosophy til sharpen the focus of the search for African essence. Its central insights are Ihnl philosophy must be both universal and rooted in a tradition, and that it I1lUst be the result of actual conversation, not simply a research program that UNCS Africans, their beliefs and practices, as raw materiaL Again, however, the resistance to an aspect of previous research programs thrctltens to import elements that may be counterproductive to sage philos~

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The attempt is clearly to move away from treating African thought as homogeneous, in addition to taking seriously the idea that the sage is not simply an object of study, but is a peer of the Western-trained philosopher. Meaning has been located in a human community that at some level includes . the researcher. The stance of objectivity implicit in both social anthropology. (ethnography) and ethnophilosophy is at least questioned here, if not abandoned completely. As we will see shortly, while this first step moves toward reflection on the African as subject, rather than object, sage philosophy also maintains elements of "scientific" investigation that potentially undermine the gain made in the move toward conversation. Nevertheless, the crucial· move of treating the subject as one who potentially makes interesting philo~ sophical statements still constitutes a critique of the earlier projects. If the sage is a peer, then, what sort of peer is he or she? How does one in~ temct with this person? If the project no longer involves the study by the active· researcher of the passive subject, it suggests that the conversation is the key element of the research. To be sure, the earlier ethnographer may have also "'....uu....... that conversation was important, but Oruka may counter with the rejoinder that the earlier techniques treated the conversation as an archaeologicalI;AIVC'lllu'lJll•. The person was irrelevant; the view expressed (and its underlying was everything. In sage philosophy, the person is everything; the view is beside the point. except as it exhibits critical rationality. Sage philosophy just whatever the sages say. The sage is not just the window on the culture, instead one who is adept at critique, abstraction, analysis, and synthesis. Oruka's attitude toward the sage is ambiguous, though. It seems on surface that the sage is to be honored, and the conversation must be to proceed along the lines that the sage deems appropriate. However, also seems to think that the sage's rationality may well be latent and in of the mediating influence of the professional researcher to become ",,,uU'''''''.' Indeed. it is not clear whether the "so-called" in "the so-called aC2lde:miG training or superiority of the researcher should not be allowed to dictate style of the discussion" is meant to modify only academic training, or superiority. Is there really a peer relationship here? What would equality ally look like in this relationship? Is it "equal but different"? The point is this: Oruka wants this conversation to not be directed by agenda of the Western philosopher. Yet, the sage is at a disadvantage The sage knows the wisdom of the culture, while the Western trained ~UIIUIj'L.I"

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ophy's own project. Not only does sage philosophy implicitly privilege a certain kind of reason, and construct a context of conversation that looks for it (or generates it), it also brings with it the assumptions of Western an~lytic . philosophy-that knowledge is about objective things, that the categones of Western philosophy are universal, and that truth is found in the abstract ~aly­ sis of concepts which can be isolated from cultural and other non-ratIOnal . factors. After all, the goal for sage philosophy is to find the thinker who has sufficient critical distance from his or her culture that divergence and analysis may happen. So, we want someone who is both at home in the culture, and to a certain extent a stranger in the land. The questions that fonn the core of the conversation also tell us about the assumptions implicit in the project. The questions seem open-ended, but in fact usually ask for an essence ("What is wisdom?"; "What is virtue?") or a description of attributes ("Are all people equal?"; "What are the differences between. man and animaIT). These are usually requests for opinions-"What do you think about X?" This makes certain assumptions about what is worth pursuing and what is not. Essentialist questions of this sort are not the only kind of philosophical question, but they fonn the bulk of the questions. as~ed to the sage.s. They may not be illegitimate questions to ask, but they do mdlcate that assumptions are being made concerning the nature of real philosophy. These questions about the nature of the sage philosophy process and unquestioned assumptions within its methodology deserve more attention. would like to focus on three crucial issues within the process: the nature wisdom, the nature of critique, and the conversation in which the sage is vited to be philosophical. In each case, the analytic philosophical of the researchers has predetermined the kind of philosophy that is and indeed has attempted to recreate African philosophy in the image Western thought. Despite this, in each case the sages themselves open door to a critique of the sage philosophical process. For sage philosophy move forward, it needs to allow for alternate understandings of each of key notions. If they are taken seriously, the sages themselves will have a critical capacity-the ability to critique sage philosophy itself-and will the door to a truly African philosophy-in-place.

THREE CONCEPTS: WISDOM, CRITIQUE, CONVERSATION Wisdom Druka recognizes that wisdom all by itself may not be the same as losophy. A person could be wise without having the analytic ability of philosopher, or be able to make fine distinctions without having wisdom,

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Nevertheless, there is a link between the two: identifying the sage is the best wily to look for potential philosophers. So, tactically it is worth paying attenliol1 to the nature of wisdom, for Druka has not given us any other technique lu rind African philosophers. Identifying exactly what a wise statement is, though, might be difficult. ()dera Druka, when he was called upon to testify in court about the traditional hcliefs of the Luo, described the identification of the sage as follows: Khaminwa:

How many sages were there?

Oruka:

Originally, there were many proposals-but many turned out not to have been sages at alL

Khaminwa:

Who delermines those who qualify?

OTUka:

First the people in the local community help to suggest who they think is wise. Then we carry Out interviews with the person suggested and evaluate them.

Jus. Bosire:

So ultimalely. it is you who would finally have the say on who is wise?

Oruka:

But on an objective criterion.

Khaminwa:

Who is a wise person?

Oruka:

According to the sage, Kithanje: A wise person is he who knows the world belongs to three people, God, man, and woman; and he is one who lakes the past, present, and future into account when making judgment. But let me add, such a person enlightens people by what he/she says. He is also one free from internal and eMemal "hungers."12

So, the choice is made by an Objective criterion, according to Druka. But

Ihis objectivity may be more elusive than Druka would like it to be. IdenIlfyitlg the wise person may have several influencing factors, and potential prublems: I, What is the character of the person'! Would a particular statement be wise no matter who said it, or is it considered wise because this particular person said it? 2. What of the statement that seems foolish on the surface, but turns out to be wise? Do we have to be wise ourselves, to recognize wise statements? l Can a statement be both commonplace and wise? Does wisdom necessarily indicate profundity, esoterism, or some other special form of thought? 4. To what extent is wisdom coextensive with practicality (the wise person is the one who says things that tum out to have use-value); to what extent

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does it illuminate a tradition (giving people a new way of understanding. old things); to what extent is it related to political savvy, judicial judgment (e.g., Solomon), or speculative ability (e.g., the pre-Socratics)? 5. Is it possible to be objective about something as culture-bound as wisdom? • Is this not instead an example of intersubjectivity, and therefore identifying wisdom is more a process of explicating shared meanings in a community, rather than identifying an essence? If we rely on the statements of the sages themselves, wisdom appears to be a communal virtue, something very close to Aristotelian phronesis. Chege Kamau: "Wisdom consists of being aware of the culture of your people; in observing society'S customs and beliefs, its norms and ways of living. A good example of wisdom is that of a ruler. A wise ruler knows and reveres society's rules."13 Okemba Simiyu Chaungo: "Wisdom is truth. If somebody has wisdom, he creates and helps people."'4 Stephen M'Mukindia Kithanje gives an entire theory of wisdom, which accounts for why some are wise and others are not, where wisdom comes from, and how one might recognize a. wise person ("The wise ... are always concerned with what happens around· their society.... When something happens, they seek to understand why has happened, what led to it, be it good or bad."15). Chaungo Barasa says that "Wisdom is awareness of the real nature of things. "16 Does this help us in deciding how to recognize the sage in Oruka's ies? I believe it does. As Orub says in the court interview, potential sages are chosen by asking around the community to determine who the likely dates might be. Then the interview takes place, which allows the rC:.C
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others to rise to a higher critical level). These are increasing levels of abstraction. Notice that in the court interview, Oruka quotes Kithanje's version of wisdom, which very much has a sense of phronesis connected to it. Then, he IIdds something of his own: "But let me add, such a person enlightens people hy what he/she says:' Practical wisdom gives way to knowledge, which I would contend is essentially abstract for Oruka. lJut is this increasing abstractive ability really the hallmark of the sage? The sages themselves do not seem to think so. They emphasize things like the communal character of wisdom, its practical nature, and its imaginative IlIld emancipatory possibilities. In other words, despite his appeal to the sage Kilhanje in the court case, Oruka's version of wisdom is less informed by the Piuges themselves, and more by his analytic philosophical training. And yet, be still recognizes them. Does he do this based on analytic ability? It is not dear that he does, despite his claims. Indeed, one might suggest that Oruka himself is a sage, and recognizes other sages because of the common base (If lived experience and shared meaning. 18 Even though he explicitly looks fur analytic ability as the hallmark of the sage, implicitly he recognizes the lIuge the same way that the local people do: he understands the culture well c,)IIough to be able to tell. In this, perhaps a sage such as Stephen Kithanje iN more honest than Oruka himself, when he points to the imaginative and l'I:slorative aspects of sagacity (which, therefore, maintain their roots with the f..'ommunity), rather than its critical, abstractive, or analytical features (which IN distanced from the community), Given the difficulty in defining wisdom itself, and given that Oruka Ihinks that there is an intercultural sense of wisdom (since he invokes the prc-Socratics as examples of sage philosophers outside Africa), is it not true Ihul one must come to a situation with a predetermined sense of the nature ul' wisdom? This will either be imported from training (making it an attempt In impose a Western sense of wisdom on a traditional African culture), or II will emerge from a deeper understanding of the culture. While the first .cems like what happens sometimes (given that the philosopher/interlocutor docs so much prompting), it actually is more likely that the second really undergirds the project. Wisdom is not defined objectively, but recognized lIucrsubjectively. The intersubjective understanding of wisdom is a hermeneutic moment, uependent on platial knowledge. There is a circularity here, in which there ,,, un expectation of uncovering Truth, which leads to finding it. Objectivity I1Ib!ilracts from this process, and imagines that there is nothing but the sciolliinc moment, when in fact objectivity is rooted in shared meanings. The I'llrumeters are established by someone who already knows what wisdom is 11111 particular culture.

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Critique Oruka defines the difference between the folk sage and the philosophic sage, in the following manner: The folk sage is versed in the common-place culture, customs and beliefs of his people. He can recite or describe them with much competence. However, he is unable to raise any critical question about them, nor is he able to observe the inherent contradictions. The philosophic sage, like the folk sage, may equally be versed in the beliefs and values of his society. His main task is to make critical assessment of them and recommend, as far as the communal pressure allows, only those beliefs and values that pass his rational scrutiny. The folksage is identifiable by his consistent inability to isolate his own opinions from the beliefs of the community and his ready inclination to take refuge behind the popular unexamined wisdom wherever he is intellectually challenged. The philosophic sage, on the other hand, is clearly able to isolate the given beliefs of the community from his own evaluation, rationalization, and even criticism of those beliefs. He is also able to enjoy a dialectical or intellectual game with the interviewer. 19

This long quotation gives a very good picture of the goal of the sage philosophy project, and the nature of critique itself. As Oruka says, critique to do with the ability to isolate one's own beliefs from those of the community, and to subject any and all beliefs to rational scrutiny. What is critique? Is it the process of finding fault? Does a sage have disagree with the tradition to be regarded as critical? Is a sage critical by nition, if he or she disagrees? Or could disagreement without critique h,.."n<>n·I, Or does "critique" mean that we are finding the scope and limits of a conc(!pt. a use closer to Kant's sense? Perhaps it is something else. Maybe critique "radical" in the sense of finding roots for something. So, the COmn110)lplaC~, belief is the unexamined belief, while the wise person is able to show why belief is held. Or another possibility: perhaps critique has something to do clearing away misunderstanding. The non-critical person is the one who they know, but really misunderstands, while the critical person is the one really understands, because the misunderstanding (perhaps due to llUlgUi1g''', perhaps to custom, perhaps something else) has been cleared away. What do the sages themselves say about critique? It is more difficult determine this than it is to decide what wisdom is, because the sages not directly asked about critique the way they were asked about wisdom. will have to use a more indirect method of determining the sages' beliefs assumptions about critique. Oruka identifies critique by establishing a communal or individual or practice, and then looking for divergence from it. As an example of

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."ence between individual beliefs, Oruka puts the claim of Okemba Simiyu Chaungo (a philosophic sage) that God is the sun to Ali Mwitani Masero (listed by Oruka as a folk sage). Masero disagrees that God is the sun, and ."ives an argument for this position. 20 An example of critique of the beliefs or a group: Stephen Kithanje is asked whether witchcraft exists in Meru Hm:iety. He says that people generally believe it to exist, especially when Hllllleone dies mysteriously. They think that there is some magical force at work. He, however, puts it down to poisoning or another physical cause. He ulsl) critiques other groups-he regards the Indian belief that the person may I:ome back as an animal as inferior to the African belief that the person comes huck as a spirit, because the person at least keeps the fonn of personhood in Ihe African belief.21 Paul Mbuya Akoko critiques the youth of his day as too Interested in the stories of Europeans, and thus unable to acknowledge their own limitations. 22 There are also examples of the critique of practice. Oruka Rang'inya's (a philosophic sage) criticizes some members of his own group, the Luo, for arrogance and laziness, and elsewhere argues that the success of the medicine mUll lies more in his or her psychological ability to instill confidence than in IIny actual magical ability.23 So, there are examples of divergence from the opinions of other individuIlls, of others in a group, and of practices. But is there more to critique than Ihis? How would we tel!? We might begin by asking whether using other models for critique apart from divergence can be found. Is creativity present? Do the sages test the boundaries of ideas? Is there rootedness that can be distinguished from simply relying on common understanding? I would argue that there are instances of these in the interviews. Stephen Kithanje, for example, uses the fecund metaphor of God being like heat and c:old,24 which allows him to develop a theory to account for the complexity life. Paul Akoko critiques the present by appealing to the past without, for the most part, resorting to nostalgia. 25 Okemba Chaungo makes the choice between complex higher and lower order goods (wisdom vs. land-which is htller?26), which does not so much indicate divergence as the ability to decide long-range social utility and also the importance of material conditions for all lire. In this final case, he essentially rejects the contradiction implied by the Inlerviewer by proposing different senses of "good." These examples, and others that could be cited, suggest that critique may be hroader than divergence. Di vergence itself may simply be the result of uncritic:ully absorbing a Western version of a concept. "Critique as divergence," for ""umple, may imply individualism. Systems do not critique; individuals do. Indl~iduals use the resources of a particular system to mount a challenge to someIhing (e.g., Marxist critique of capitalism, feminist critique of patriarchy).

ur

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Is this necessarily the model for critique within African circles? Perhaps, but that would have to be established within African philosophy itself. given its own particular conditions. Sage philosophy assumes that the universal moment of philosophy is critique, but as Wittgenstein pointed out, a word like critique may only bear the illusion of universality, while in fact it only makes sense in the context of its own set of meanings. One cannot assume that the nature of critique is universal, if critique itself is tied to particular contingent philosophical systems. . One sort of critique that does not show up in the interviews, perhaps because the interview situation does not allow it, is the critique of the process of sage philosophy itself. Perhaps the critique that makes a difference is the one that reexamines the investigative method of the researchers, which raises to question the definition of wisdom. The current method of sage philosophy seems positivistic. It does not have a place for self-critique. It is a technology designed to find and process certain kinds of information. But what if that information does not fit into the mould? There is no mechanism for dealing with the wisdom that we cannot pre-cognize. We may not even recognize it at all-the expected is all that is found. A truly African philosophy-in-place has to do more than this. A truly African philosophy-in-place would have the critique placed so that the unexpected could find a voice. We cannot take all positionality out of our investigative mechanisms (and according to Gadamer, this is not a bad thing). But we have to bring them to light, and sage philosophy as it stands has no· mechanism for doing that. But could it? Probably. For this to happen, the sage philosopher would: have to give up the search for the nugget of wisdom, and suppose rather that more subtle and nuanced life-world is being explicated here. As it stands, charge that sage philosophy is not far from ethnophilosophy is substantially true. The folk sage is simply the person who can articulate the beliefs of people (e.g., Ogotemmeli), and the philosophic sage is the one who is able comment on those beliefs. But the lived experience of the people may still been missed. This is still at best a structural account, and a refinement that structure through the commentary of the sage. The African should be able to offer more than this. Conversation The recorded examples of discussions with folk and philosophical make clear that the starting point is a question and answer survey. .:1111111'Il0l· questions are asked of every person. As Oruka suggests, it is important to the conversation go where it will, so each conversation takes on its own

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ucler. In some cases, we have something approaching adulation; in others, the ljuestioning becomes close. Oruka intends that the conversation be a cooperative process; the sage Illay not have thought about some issues until the interviewer raises them. ( \mversation, therefore, is a kind of midwifery. To use another metaphor, the interviewer gives the form and the sage gives the content, and the result is philosophy. At the same time, conversation is the tool used to uncover philosophy, ruther than the context in which philosophy emerges. In a true conversation, hoth parties have a certain degree of vulnerability. Is there vulnerability here? The sage is vulnerable, to a certain extent, because it is his or her views that lire on display. Given the emergent nature of the project, the views of the lIuges may be views in progress, for the first time articulated in a particular way. Despite their tentative nature, these views-in-progress are also being I'cl,;orded and analyzed by a trained philosopher. One might liken it to a profcssor interviewing a wise person from any cultural background-it may be nit honor to be asked, but the questioner is dictating the categories and the kinds of questions that are legitimately "philosophical," while the respondent 1:1 still trying to work out an articulation of a position. One might object that the analogy suggests that the sage has to live up to an nUlside (i.e., Western) standard of philosophy and the sage philosophy project ,b.:s not require this. Is this true? If the interviewer as a trained philosopher III the one determining which questions are worth asking, and on the basis of these anSWers deciding whether the interviewee is a folk sage or a philosophi1,:111 sage, it seems that the possibility of both Western categories and Western mcthods of thought being imposed on the subject is very high. Is the interviewer at all vulnerable in this process? It seems unlikely, given Ihe record of the conversations. All questions are directed at the interviewee, III1f.J are framed as "neutrally" as possible, presumably to avoid prejudicing the answers. This neutrality, though, means that the questioner is never really chullenged, certainly not by the person being interviewed. Or, if that challenge ever happened. it is not recorded in the published accounts. The point I,. Ihis: the conversation is a tool being used for a specific purpose, which is to clussify the subject. The interviewer has already been classified, under Oruku's "trends," as a professional philosopher, and that suggests a spatial rather lhull a platial philosophy in the sense outlined earlier. It may be, though, that cll.Issification and understanding are not the same thing. In a real conversation what is said matters, not simply because it represents III individual's viewpoint, but because it contributes to understanding. Does whot is said matter here? It seems that it does not, for the position taken is nUl considered on its own merit, but as an artifact of a particular person, and

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a signifier as to his or her identity. What matters is identifying whether the person is a sage, and what kind he or she is. In most of the interviews, the answers are taken at face value. Some further questioning occasionally occurs, but it usually leads to c1aritication rather than defense. 2? It is perhaps controversial to say of the sage philosophy project that what . is said does not matter, but what I mean is not that it does not matter to the . researchers as individuals. I have no doubt that there is a keen interest by sage philosophy researchers, as there should be. The problem remains, though, that the method employed does not uncover what really matters in the thought of the sages. It does not uncover them as humans with a dynamic, emergent thought, but as subjects to be categorized, to prove the point that there really is philosophy in traditional Africa. Despite the claim that the conversation is freewheeling, the very fact that it is a question and answer session makes it a particular kind of conversation .. There are many kinds of conversations possible, ranging from the utilitarian to the intimate. Just as one would not normally attempt to say "I love you,'" for instance, and mean to express deep emotions by it while ordering fast food ,. at a drive-in window, a question and answer session makes certain kinds oL conversation more likely and other kinds much less likely. So, what are question and answer sessions good at? Some example.s: They are useful when concrete information or opinions must be conveyed In primarily one direction. They are useful for generating statistical studies , populations. They are useful for interviewing subjects to construct sample sets. Teachers use the technique on students to detect whether they have done their homework. The method is also useful when trying to draw out a repository of wisdom or knowledge from someone. It is this final sense that closest to the sage philosophy project. There are examples of breaches of this form of conversation. Certain nesses and religious organizations have used questionnaires to get a in the door to sell to or convert the respondent. Most people feel like opinion was not important after all, that their belief about something was as important as their subsequent actions (i.e., purchase of a service or sion). Some people interviewed by reporters have on occasion felt like point was not to find out what they thought, but to get them to say what reporter wanted them to say. . These breaches point to the limitations of this form of conversatIOn. are question and answer sessions not useful for? They do not tend to be ful for two way communication. They assume that questions can be asked a relatively uncontroversial way (indeed, "loaded" questions are a defect the method), which may not be the case. They can promote an "attacker defender" situation in some cases; in other cases, they might be the'

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or lhe leader by the follower; in still others, the interview may be a form of elltrapment. The question and answer interview works better at identifying heliefs, communicating information, and establishing identity, than explorIlIg meaning. It is not the conversation of peers, but presupposes an unequal power relationship. It is important to note that the question and answer interview is not a Socratic dialogue. Despite the fact that Oruka saw Socrates as a model, it is not UI all clear that the dialogue partners are working cooperatively toward truth. Indeed, as the records of the conversations make clear, there is little dialectic III all. Questions are asked, answers are given, and another topic is raised. 50cl'lltic dialogues attempted to raise questions of meaning, perhaps paradoxicully by pushing the question of identity (the forms) as far as they would go. This is not occurring in the sage philosophy interviews. 28 Do the sages themselves shed any light on the notion of conversation? As was the case for the question of critique, they were never directly asked (or at least, it was not recorded) about the nature of the process they were undergoIng at the time. We will again have to rely on more indirect evidence. The sages certainly regard conversation as useful to communicate informalioll. Paul Akoko, for example, decries the fact that the young do not listen 10 lhe old, like they once did. 29 Their attitude points to a kind of arrogancewhere once people would acknowledge their limitations and rely on communul wisdom, they now either rely on themselves, or on outside wisdom. Chege Kamau, who at times seems to advocate following societal wisdom, III other times has a more nuanced version of knowledge: Society's norms should be revealed to them [the children]. But not just through hooks. Education is not found in big books. Education is out there in the world-when you are walking, sleeping. tilling the land, talking, praying, eating. you are learning. Book education corrupts. It makes man's mind weak. He clinnot meet a sudden life situation prepared; he must run back to his books to check what action to take. 30

In other words, the text corrupts, because it takes away from the ability III uct. This seems to suggest that knowledge emerges in society, not in the lIulitury pursuit of the scholar. Kamau is not simply appealing to the received hcliefs of the community, as it may appear on the surface; he is saying that Ihe community is the creative place in which knowledge can emerge. ConverIIlIlion, broadly understood, is basic for real knowledge, and for action. This IIIlUlUnts to, it should be said in passing, a fairly pointed and sophisticated critique-not of Kamau's society, but of Western society. Another example: Josiah Osuru is asked whether it might be that the tradiIllIllUI belief in God might just be a lie spread by mischievous people. 31 His

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answer is twofold: first, it is not in a person's interest to lie like this, because that person will know that this will come to no good; second,

hnrely begins to inquire about the meaning of the positions expressed by the ~nge. And, the fact that the questioner must have some common horizon with Ihe sage is never interrogated. It is not enough to ask what the beliefs are, or even to push the question of their logical consistency. The question of their lIIeaning has to be raised, and the inequality of power has to be addressed, hcfore sage philosophy can move from being technique to philosophy.

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that people talk of and praise God is in itself evidence that God exists. For how can one talk of that which does not exist? To talk of that which does not exist is to talk of nothing-and to talk of nothing is to be unintelligible. Human beings exist and they talk of God. So, God must be there. n

In other words, the fact that people talk about God is enough to say that' God exists, because people would not talk about what did not exist. This seems like an odd thing to say, until one compares this with Anselm's ontological argument for the existence of God. Anselm says something similar to this, except that for him it is the thought of God that guarantees God's • existence. "That than which none greater can be conceived" cannot exist only in thought, for then there would be a greater-that which also existed in' reality. Osuru here is putting the argument into a social context. 33 lt is not the' individualistic move of talking about private thoughts, but the public move, of talking about the place of God in the social world of the people. Whether' talking about God actually guarantees the existence of God is beside the point-the real issue is that the public world of conversation fonns the basis' for knowledge. One might interpret the emphasis on the communal nature of conversation " as evidence that the speaker has not developed into a philosophic sage yet.: After all, the philosopher must go beyond the commonly held wisdom that, would reside in the people's folkways. Does not the emphasis on question and answer give the best opportunity to see whether the sage really has the ability to generate critical distance? Not necessarily. We must make the distinction between the that is just the reporting of the beliefs of the people, and the f'A.",pr< that is the recognition that the community rather than the lone genius is touchstone for meaning and wisdom. Sometimes, the sages clearly do not beyond a clear understanding of the beliefs of the people. However, in cases there is the realization that wisdom and, perhaps, philosophical tnC)UIo1:nt. is worked out in conversation in the company of those with common and interests. There is a basis in conversation for philosophy, and not in the methodological question and answer conversation of the researcher. Perhaps the chief problem with the style of conversation used in sage losophy is that it is a method. It does not allow for anything more than most basic exchange of information. But this infonnation is couched in a zan of meanings, which are never investigated. This horizon is not by referring to the beliefs of the culture; indeed, a catalogue of those beliefs

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SAGACITY AND PHILOSOPHY-IN-PLACE All three of these central notions, wisdom, critique, and conversation, seem 10 point to a gap in sage philosophy. This gap centers on the generally posi-

livistic nature of the enterprise, and its inability to question itself, or allow its 'Illhjects to question it. This critique of the methodology of sage philosophy should not be taken as u disparagement of the project in generaL This is a call to think more deeply IIhout the process, rather than abandon it. Many attempts to find or construct II philosophy which is truly African have assumed that either the object or the method must be uniquely African. Sage philosophy stands out as an attempt whk:h attempts to use both as points of uniqueness. The object of investigalion must be truly African-part of the oral tradition-and the method is uniquely African, the production of sagacity through the midwifery of the professionally trained philosopher. In a way, this is the attempt to address the imposition of Western theory on Africa. Africa has often simply been the object of outside study, and as such I" rendered voiceless. Any objection to this sort of study becomes part of the Nludy, another nugget of sociological, political, or economic information to he digested in the production of knowledge about Africa. At the same time, African intellectuals have operated under the stigma that, unless they import Ihe intellectual tools of the West, they are not really being intellectual. Sage philosophy seems to overcome these problems, but as I have argued, II may actually perpetuate them. In the reliance on a method, the production ut' knowledge has become technologized, a regularized process designed to ,luurantee the outcome of the identification and classification of sages. Hven if this process of legitimation was not made so explicitly, there is still It reliance on a method to uncover knowledge. Built into this method is the Imining of the European philosopher, which is not open for question by the NIII!!t:. In other words, despite the attempt to overcome the objectivity implicit In ethnography, there is still the assumption that the research is objective and dlHinterested (the hallmarks of Western science). But in fact the investigation IN not objective or disinterested at all. Not just anyone could go out and do the

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research, not even any trained philosopher. Competence in the language of the sage is usuaUy necessary, and with it the trust of the community. There is . a context of shared meaning that must precede the project of sage philosophy, or nothing will emerge. , In other words, I am suggesting that sage philosophy needs to find ways that the subjects can actually critique the process. A true dialogue needs to emerge, rather than one based on roles defined by positivistic social sci-" ence. If this dialogue can be de-technologized, and made into a real encounter instead of the search for the key statements that enable the researcher to put the interviewee into the "folk" or the "philosophic" category, we may find that the critical sagacity can emerge in ways not predetermined by a method. This suggests that the sage philosophy project has a basis in place. It is an attempt to explicate, from the position of the constructed "Other" (the Western trained, but African based philosopher), the life-world of a people. And, . there is an assumption about what is worth finding in this life-world. What is found has to have a critical edge. Peter Amato argues that sagacity's downfall is that it continues to consider, traditional Africa as a problem to be solved. 34 In this assumption, it has failed to understand its own hermeneutical stance toward its tradition, and failed to, understand the dialectical development of philosophy itself, as a conversation ' that involves tradition but is not reducible to it. This is an astute observation, and needs to be taken further than took it. Sage philosophy contains within its method and assumptions elements that lie dormant, and need to be wakened. Only when sage losophy becomes truly self-critical of its own methods. allows the ~"l..' __.•_ to become true dialogue partners, and does not simply apply a method to body of data or a population, will it be able to ask truly African ouestlons. It turns out that wisdom, indeed, must be thought (as the title of this "'H
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philosophy as based on dialogue. At the same time, Western hermeneutics hus to be considered in its own historical particularity. While there are certain commonalities between the two projects, the conversation must be earned, not presumed or imposed. There are multiple conversations, then, lhat make up African philosophy-those among Africans, those among Africa and its "others," those among different "disciplinary" ways of knowillg in Africa, those among different interests and desires, those among the V:lriOUS strands of African philosophy. None of these has been worked out in any great detail to this point. African hermeneutics would need to take into account African lived experience, both in its manifest nature and in its subliminal aspects. This much !luge philosophy has tried to do. Clearly, though, the central question concerns Ihe way that one might accomplish this task without reducing it to Western categories on the one hand, and without artificially ignoring the historical cunversation with the West on the other. African thought must be addressed Ilut just as a first order activity, in which the belief structures of individuals 01' groups are interrogated, but as second order as well, in which the process of truth-making becomes an object of thought as well. This will be accomplished not by importing a method, whether that is the question and answer method rooted in positivism, or a hermeneutic method rooted in Heidegger (II' Gadamer. The terms of understanding must be generated from all the peer cllnversations available to African philosophy, rather than from foreign conversations. In this way, African philosophy will not have to come cap in hand to the West, for the stamp of approval on its philosophical activities. This will "Iso mean that it can engage those Western traditions as peers, not as scavenllers for scraps from the Western tables. The objection, of course, is that these conversations cannot simply be willed into existence, as if there was no history of oppression and alienIIlcu discourse. The emancipatory project must precede the hermeneutic ulle. But this also may be a false distinction. Perhaps African thought needs !loth these moments at once. Meaning cannot be deferred until the playing field is level. The progressivism inherent in the Habermasian project may In fact be an artifact of the Western Enlightenment, and African philosophy may find it requires different ways of constructing its own hermeneutical project. To be sure, this is a bare sketch of some issues that will have to be addressed in theorizing African hermeneutics. The point, perhaps, is not to give 1111 exhaustive list of the nuances of the project at this juncture, but to suggest Ihut it is possible to imagine a unique African platial hermeneutic that is a peer for other particularized forms of hermeneutics elsewhere. Sage philosophy has taken the first step in that direction.

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NOTES

22. Druka, Sage Philosophy, 138. 23. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 125-26. 24. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, ] 34. 25. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 138-42, 26. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 116-17. 27. Jay Van Hook ("Kenyan Sage Philosophy: A Review and Critique," 59) 00llr.:sses this as a problem in Oruka's research methodology. 28. D. A. Masolo (African Philosophy in Search of Identity: 239-41) also makes Ihis point, although he seems to see more commonality between sage philosophy and SOL'ratic dialogue than I do. 29. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 138--39. .10. Oruka. Sage Philosophy, 88. 31. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 102. 32. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 102. B. The arguments, of course, also have the difference that Anselm is not trying III say, "If God did not exist, we would not be thinking about him," whereas Osuru is ~lIying that, "If God did not exist, we would not be talking about him." The point is lIot to suggest that the two arguments are entirely parallel, but that Osuru places the "mof in the social world, while Anselm places it in the logical world. ]4. Amato, Peter, "African philosophy and modernity," Postc%llial African Philo.lUphy: A Critical Reader. Emmanuel Eze, cd.: 91.

I. The chapter heading comes from one of the interviews recoroed in H. Odera Oruka, cd. Sage Philosophy: Indigenous Thinkers and Modern Debate on African Philosophy (Nairobi, Kenya: African Centre for Technology Studies, 1991),97. The speaker is Ali Mwitani Masero, from the Kakamega district of Kenya. Ironically, Oruka lists him as a folk sage, rather than a philosophical sage. 2. For another version of this question, see Robert Bernasconi, "African Philosophy's Challenge to Continental Philosophy" in Postcolonial African ~hilosophy: A Critical Reader, Emmanuel Eze, ed. (Oxford, England: Blackwell Pubhshers, 1997), 188. 3. Lansana Keita, "Contemporary African philosophy: The Search for a Method." African Philosophy: The Essential Readings, Tsenay Sercqueberhan. ed. (St. Paul, Minn.: Paragon House, 199\): 139-41. 4. Peter Bodunrin, "The Question of African Philosophy" in Africall Philosophy: The Essential Readings. Tsenay Serequeberhan, ed., 72. 5. Jay Van Hook, "Kenyan Sage Philosophy: A Review and Critique," The Philosophical Forum 27 no. 1 (Fall 1995): 59; D. A. Masolo, African Philosophy in Search. ofldemity (Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1994): 239-41. 6. Paulin Hountondji. African Philosophy: Myth alld Reality. Second Editioll (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996),33; Bodunrin, "The Question of African Philosophy"; 82-83. 7. Oruka, Sage Philosophy. 58-60. 8. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 60. 9. Oruka, Sage Philosophy. 35-36. 10. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 60. 1 ]. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 40-4] . 12. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 73. 13. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 87. 14. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 116. 15. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 130. ]6. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 154. Chaungo Barasa, besides being identified as sage, is also an interviewer in the sage philosophy project. It may be no accj~e~t he is also the sage who speaks of wisdom in the most "abstract" manner. ThIS IS to say that he has been somehow corrupted by education; indeed, his I1IlJIlU"Ul'lH".... education is infonnal. However, being part of the project, it is worth asking the goals of the project are reprodueed in the answers of one of its members. 17. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 57. 18. Indeed, the inclusion of Oruka's court appearance in Oruka, Sage PhiI05ufJ,'l)/, could be seen as reporting on his research, or it could be seen as another sage l1ut"....."" phy interview, in which the barristers are the researchers and Orub is the sage. 19. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 36. 20. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 96. This, apparently, is not enough for Oruka to Masero as a philosophic sage. 2!. Oruka, Sage Philosophy, 131-32.

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Culture and the Problem of Universality

The vagueness of the term "culture" has often been noted; nevertheless, it continues to be used as a touchstone for what is unique about a group of people. It does not necessarily point to geographical contiguity, although It sometimes does. It does not necessarily point to linguistic commonality, I'l'Iigious similarities, tastes, habits, patterns, or any other particular feature; yet, as a category accessible to both the non-academic and the scholar, it continues to demand that we take it seriously. Sophie Oluwole argues that African philosophy can only be apprehended Ihrough a study of African culture.! She castigates those such as Peter BoL1unrin, Paulin Hountondji, Kwame Anthony Appiah, and others who she n'es as ignoring the explication of culture as the basis of philosophy. None of them "show any serious interest in discovering the style of African thought fl'Otn literary texts in African languages. The few phrases, propositions and proverbs they casually referred to can hardly be regarded as a strong enough husis on which to determine the nature of African intellectual culture in its entirety" (141). In place of what she sees as a piecemeal and disconnected II,proach, she advocates drawing on proverbs, stories, and other traditional literary texts to access the Africa that is not mediated by Western preconcepIiolls. In short, she calls for a rational study of African culture that will allow Mludents to decide the scope and merits of African thought for themsel ves, as II is presented in a positive light. There are many things to admire about Oluwole's approach. She takes seriuusly the range of texts that Africa has produced, rather than assuming they must be mediated by a Western disciplinary source such as classical anthropolIt"y (about which she has little good to say). She recognizes the morally and politicully loaded nature of Westem stories about Africa, such as the belief that 121

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Africans never developed any sustainable political structures, science, or technology. She takes seriously the careful work of dealing with texts. Nevertheless, there seem to be some unexamined assumptions in her analy-. sis. For one, there is an implicit opposition between professional (African) philosophers and the statements of common people. The first are to be viewed suspiciously (except inasmuch as they support the second); the second are more or less taken as giving access to a pure African culture, which can ul- . timately ground and guarantee the legitimacy of African thought. Implicit in her argument is the assumption that we can access this second group directly. and that they can give us a window to a time before Western contamination, . or "cultural enslavement." What is problematic here is not that African philosophers should be studying the texts of traditional Africans. This, indeed, should be done, and more often. And, her problems with the academic study of Africa that anthropology (among other disciplines) has promoted in the past are well taken, if overstated. Some anthropologists have indeed viewed culture as an "other" to the, West, as something to be "explained" using a theoretical structure. The issue with Oluwole's paean to African culture is twofold: the nature of culture and its artifacts is assumed as obvious and given, and the question of how one might access this culture is not interrogated at all. The first issue is a common one among scholars who want to use as the ground of African philosophy. Due to the vagueness of the concept culture, along with the seemingly obvious fact that "we just know it when see it," culture becomes a mute given, or un interpreted source of data. It is sumed to be contained in traditional texts, but the evidence for this is analogical, to the texts of ancient Greece or other parts of the Western tion which continue to be part of the conversation of Western philosophy. The second issue is more germane to this chapter. The question of to culture is usually seen as simply a matter of familiarity with the (preferably having been born into it), which includes familiarity with guage and customs. However, nowhere is the process of interpretation Key questions could be asked - what are the political agendas and ken assumptions of the inquirer? Is culture itself being taken as an i','h~....'1111 good, which may subdue critical inquiry? (Oluwole critiques those who questions about whether culture can sustain certain kinds of pnlIIO!mp'm(;" inquiry-does that mean that critique is limited to explication or promotion of the culture?) What of the implicit notion that there is cu purity prior to Western intervention? What is to be done with this once it is generated? All these questions are not meant to suggest that culture is irrelevant philosophical reflection, or that African culture cannot sustain phjlloiSO~)ny.

The point is that the given-ness of culture needs to be subject to inquiry. This dwpter will begin that task. First I will argue against the notion that there is nlltural purity. Second I will deal with Wiredu's and Oruka's arguments for "cultural universals." Finally, I will consider the ways in which the idea of the universal continues to be useful, but in a different format from what we have Nt'Cn thus far. The purpose will not be to dismiss culture as an operative part of African philosophy, but to unseat it from its presumed role as guarantor of Ihc Africanity of African philosophy.

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THE MYTH OF PURITY Kwasi Wiredu, in Cultural Universals and Particulars, argues for the concepIllal decolonization of African philosophy, and proposes a simple technique to IIccomplish this task. He advocates that the African try to express concepts in his or her traditional language. He gives several examples of how this might work, including a fascinating analysis of Descartes' Archimedean point of Ihought, "I think therefore I am."2 His purpose is not to try to extricate African thought from its history of encounter with the West, as if that could be tlolle, but to be able to identify and differentiate African from non-African Ihought. Ilis choice of term, however, is interesting. Intellectual decolonization is " Icrm often associated in African scholarship with Ngugi's Decolonizing fiJt' Mind. Both writers argue that there is a kind of purity, located either in history or in the conceptual realm, which must be recovered. Even if one "rgues, as Wiredu does, that this purity does not entail exclusivity, there is .Ii II the need to categorize African thought as African before the task of mining its resources can take place. Indeed, if it does not take place, by 111lplication one's thought continues to be colonized, that is, governed by lUI outside force. The idea that there is a pure culture, one untainted by outside influences, IN one which permeates a great deal of African philosophy. It is usually not .Iuted in terms as stark as "purity," but it is there nonetheless. Oruka, for inIItunce, places African sages at a higher level within African philosophy than Ihose who are "professional" philosophers, a term that implies Western trainIng. There is therefore the ideal of cultural purity (even if the reality is more difficult to arrive at) that serves to ground African philosophy. It is this ideal Ihul I wish to challenge as incoherent and unnecessary. While the ability to yovem one's own philosophical agenda and destiny is a laudable goal, there lire u number of questions or issues that arise with this notion of purity, and liN accompanying notion of decolonization.

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1. The location of the pure fonn of culture or thought is difficult to identify. Some theorists seem to locate it in an historical past, preferably before the taint of Western concepts and institutions. Thus. the logical step is to find whatever material. historical, oral, or written evidence exists to give a picture of that time, and counter the present "impure" age. Other theorists (such as Wiredu) locate purity in language. As his handy technique indicates, the sieve of language will filter out impurities of thought. Other' theorists locate purity in "traditional" life, that is, life that has not yet been very tainted by Western modernity. Thus, the fast-dying out older generation, the wise elders, must be consulted and their wisdom recorded as a , hedge against Western modernity. The question of location is, however, a much more difficult one to answer than these various techniques might indicate. Assuming for the moment that such a thing as pure culture exists (or at least relatively pure), the tools of access may not give it to us. Relying on various sorts of records, for example, still requires an interpreter. 2. Not only is the location of purity a problematic issue, the access to purity as well. Some of the putative techniques for locating purity of culture thought have already been mentioned, but the issue of recognizing purity is also of interest. How does one know when the goal has been reached? Who is qualified to recognize purity? Most researchers trained in We steIn ways of thought would be exempt, for they could never tell whether had reached pure culture or just their neat SCholarly anticipation of it. people in African societies, in fact, have been already "tainted" by \NP"fpl!'n thought, and therefore could not be sure they were not simply 1\0"'.1"."..... another strand of Western ideology. Of course, this argument is a bit disingenuous, in that people do recoglilizC cultural differences even after being immersed in other cultures. Indeed, immersion may actually sharpen their focus on the culture they grew up But the point is that a conceptual analysis will not provide the needed of assurance that the goal has been found, and is not simply some """,,,'<1,.,,". er's pet theory on his or her own culture. The fact that people do rec:oglfllZC cultural differences suggests to us that we need to look somewhere than conceptual analysis to find out how that takes place. 3. The notion of "decolonization" in order to regain lost purity, when to thought, merits some attention. This is a political metaphor, and gests that people's minds, like countries or home areas, can be OCI~U()lec by a foreign power. Whether through force, guile or seduction, the people in the area come to accept the occupying power as legitimate, least to some extent. Once they realize that their home has been taken, process of redressing the balance means not only forcibly kicking out

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occupier, but also rethinking those thought processes that allowed this to happen in the first place, as well as those fonns of false consciousness that grew up during the occupation. Do minds work like this? To a certain extent, it is clear that one can allow certain conceptual distinctions to govern one's actions. However, the problem is deeper than this. There are always sets of interpretive possibilities which allow us to narrate our actions. Those narratives are never entirely univocal. We cannot ever become clear on what needs to be shed. Is it beliefs about things? Why would beliefs be the location of the lack of cultural purity? 4. A commitment to purity produces a kind of oppositional situation in the case of the African academic. Clearly this person has been "tainted" with Western thought. And yet, this person is usually the most vocal in defending the notion of purity. One finds very few references, for example, in the sages to the importance of purity. Ironically, the more "impure" the sage is, the more likely he or she will refer to the importance of purity. Why is this? ~. There is more than one sense of purity in African philosophical thought. The one that has been assumed to this point has been the purity of the cultural Object of study, or of the source of the thought itself. Another form is the purity of contemporary African thought. Some writers argue that African philosophy must be dispassionately rational, untainted by politicalor other interested concerns. The argument about purity that has been advanced to this point applies here as well. Just as there is no pure object of investigation, there is no purely disinterested body of thought either. The idea of purity itself serves a Western agenda, not an African one. The CI)istemological assumption is that the object of study must have some unique lillpect to it to justify its being studied. It must also be "approachable" from 1111 objective or disinterested point of view, to guarantee that the researcher is nol simply reading in his or her OWn biases. The research methods of the academic tend to be those developed in the West, having as their goals these very feutures of objectivity, disinterest, and identification of a unique object. The African academic, in arguing for purity, ironically excludes him- or herself l'nml Africanity. This person becomes a hybrid subject through self-definiliull. The benefit of this move is that this person can serve as a gateway to the ohject of study. While this academic is not quite African anymore, he or she is lUore African than outside researchers. Therefore, there is a kind of guarantee or access to the objects of study for the African academic. He or she sees this IN the best of both worlds-access to tradition, while at the same time havIng the tools of modernity. 1 would argue that it is actually the worst of both wurlds-the tradition that the researcher wants to claim is always regarded as

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tainted in some way, while the tools of modernity are being used on an object· which serves to reinforce the alienation or otherness of the researcher. Like any tool, it creates the user that it needs in order to get the job done. K wame Gyekye recognizes that culture is never pure. His characterization , of the issue is as follows: It is true that no cultural tradition can claim to be a pure tradition, in the sense of having evolved or developed on its own terms, in total isolation from alien cultural influences. In one way, elements of an alien cultural tradition can be voluntarily assimilated through adaptation by an indigenous tradition; in another, alien cultural elements may be regarded as having been foisted on an indigenous tradition. In the history of growth and evolution of cultures, the former (i.e., voluntary assimilation) has been a more common and more effective mode of cultural diffusion than the latter.)

It is worth noting here that, while he argues against purity, he does so in terms of a subject (either individual or collective) that makes a decision at some point, or is forced in some way. There is a kind of agency here that seems suspect. Do cultures make decisions about their interaction with other I cultures? I would suggest that this is rare. Indeed, the notion of "cultural elements" themselves are suspect, as they seem to indicate a kind of unity or identifiability that does not seem to be the case in actual practice. Gyekye goes on to argue that the success or failure of cultural appropriation is owed to the "adaptive capacity of the indigenous tradition."4 If cultures inevitably interact with others, and appropriate "elements" necessarily, hi comment indicates that there is a valuation of a culture here. Can it adapt? Then it is better than the one that cannot. Even better if it can adapt on its own terms, and resist attempts to foist unwanted elements on it. The culture . does not have this adaptive capacity "may absorb the alien tradition w fully appreciating the real implications of the absorption."5 This talk of cultural capacities and cultural elements is, however, prC'Ol~~m" atic. Neither these elements nor these capacities are reflectively available the actual participants in the culture. This is an after the fact categorization, way of trying to come to terms with the amorphous character of culture. ticipants in the culture, inasmuch as they are participants and not ac,ldemilci or participant-observers, engage in practices for the most part or to further particular ends or cement social bonds in some way. A dance type of food may be a cultural element to the academic observer, but to participant it is just what the community does, or what seems to fit into already accepted world of meaning. 6 This is obvious, but there is a reason for saying it. It might be worth ing what meaning these "cultural elements" have to the participant of ,I

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culture, rather than to the academic who needs to reify the object of study in order to make it objective and accessible. One might argue, with Gyekye, Ihat cultures are not pure; to most participants the issue never really comes up. Most would not be able to tell the origin of some particular practice lifter a few years of its use. It is transparent within the culture, which is 10 say it bears unreflective meaning. This is not to say that it could not be reflected upon, but that there needs to be a compelling reason for doing so. II is, to use the term from the tradition chapter earlier, part of the peripherulity experienced by those competent in a culture. When there is reflection, it comes at the behest of ideological imperatives, or sometimes because or some conflicting economic, social, or cultural value that only comes to light years after the practice has been engaged. The point is that the issue of purity never comes up for the participant because the "elements" of the l'ulture are not discrete items except for the academic who needs to make Ihem discrete for the purposes of study. The result is that the issue of purity becomes meaningful solely within ucademic circles, and to those who have been initiated into its methods of investigation. But these methods of investigation have been dominated by certain methodologies. Structuralism and functionalism, for example, once uominated anthropology. Logical analysis has dominated philosophy, parlicularly in Anglophone contexts. The "scientific method" has been taken as uuthoritative virtually without question. If these methods are applied to the Ntudy of culture, they require the reification of culture, and its separation from Ihe actual meaning held by the participants. These are methods of explanalion, and in the unfortunate history of modem academia, explanation and understanding have been separated, and the first has taken centre stage. One might think that there is nothing wrong with these methods as tools (If investigation, as long as we realize that none of them capture all there is III know about the object in question. I will not take issue with the methods Ihemselves at this point, as space will not allow and as others have already (./olle this.7 But I will point out that the methods assume a certain kind of IIbject, and force the "culture" to adhere to the limits that the methods presupIlose. This means that we tend to think in terms of "elements" and "capacilies" of culture, which are at best useful fictions that make an amorphous field Illto something discrete. What other option is there, though? Do we not need to deal with an area til' study in this way? I would argue that we do not, and that this goes back to Ihc question of purity. Purity only makes sense under these forms of cultural Investigation. To determine purity, you need to be able to isolate beliefs and pructices from the subjects that hold them, and regard them as transferable. What if this is not in fact possible? What if the subjects are their beliefs and

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practices? If this is the case, then we need a different way of addressing the question of the interaction of cultures, as well as the notion of purity. A case in point is Gyekye's rejection of the "invented tradition," discussed earlier in the chapter on tradition. s He argues that something that is regarded as a tradition, but actually has a recent origin, cannot really be called a tradition at alL A tradition requires several generations to be established, he argues, and something of recent invention cannot fulfill this requirement. It is more interesting to ask why people actually regard something recent as a tradition. That is, instead of starting from an abstract definition of tradition and then saying that people are mistaken if they deviate from it, it seems more useful to ask about the accepted meaning of the people, and the apparent· discrepancy with chronology. Are people really wrong in calling something recent a tradition, or does their calling it a tradition reflect something morc profound about the force of its meaning and its role in concept construction for the people? Even when the recent origin of a "tradition" is pointed out some of these people, it may make little difference. Why is that? Are just systematically deluded, or does a certain practice so insinuate itself their lives that they would regard their identity as fundamentally ditfer,ent without it? It seems odd that an academic would presume to tell within a culture what is meaningful to them, and what should not be. This is why I argue that culture and subjectivity cannot be taken apart. ing it apart results in arid definitions, that cannot capture the meaning that individual places on a practice within the culture. It is more fruitful to take perience within a culture as the starting point of investigation, and try to aa(lfel~ questions of the significance of that experience and its anomalies as the of study. Starting anywhere else does too much violence to the culture. One argument for working with some sense of cultural purity is One might argue that, while there might not be cultural purity, there may strategic value in speaking as if there was such purity, particularly in the of the assault on African culture. A number of philosophical movements taken this path, notably negritude and Afrocentrism. Neither of these are movements, and of course they have deep differences between them. What share, though, is a sense that the task of purging Western influences from rican consciousness is unfinished, and that it will take some extreme mf~aslllrel before anything like a conversation between equals can be imagined. It is important to recognize that neither negritude nor Afrocentrism a single set of concepts or emphases. Senghor is not Cesaire, Asante is Bernal or Diop. But in both of these examples, there is an important of philosophy-in-place that is recognized throughout the approaches to losophy. Quite simply, that is the importance of being true to the place, clear on what the place actually is, and recovering what is important about

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place. In both negritude and Afrocentrism, there is an archaeology of place. not in the sense of bringing dead and lost traces to the surface. but in the sense til' the recovery of elements of significance that remain vital to current life. Afrocentrism's commitment to basing all inquiry on African ideals is clearly It commitment to place. One criticism of both negritude and Afrocentrism is that they spend more lime focused on the oppressive forms of thought that they are rejecting, than 011 African thought itself. This might seem ironic. in that both celebrate African thought. Negritude poetically expresses African consciousness, and Afrocentrism has done important work on bringing to the foreground Kemetic texts und their travel within Africa and beyond. So, it may seem like these should be Neen as quintessentially platial philosophies. And yet, negritude stops short of Illatiality by stopping with personality. It becomes another attempt to guarantee Africanity through an aspect of culture. And, while Afrocentrism's roots in a cC11ain form of platiality are undeniable, what is also clear is that the trajectorics of studies in the area have done more to establish spatial philosophy. The tlverriding concern has been to draw boundaries between Africa and what is tlutside, despite its stated goal of inclusiveness and universality. As I have argued all along in this book, that impulse is both important and understandable, Ili ven the history of marginalization and intellectual colonization, but it does not lead to a truly creative philosophy. It tends rather to lead to the establishment of purity of thought, a move which ironically tends to stagnate concepts ruther than create new concepts for current challenges. Charles Verharen sketches out twelve "philosophical principles" of Afrncentrism, along with one or more supporting sources for each (Verharen, 2002, 213), and these principles are an example of this spatial philosophy. These principles, which include such things as a belief in inclusive world history, a recognition of common life and the indwelling of mixed cultures, un inclusive epistemology, a holistic ontology, and a belief that life itself is u global harmony, are meant to describe a philosophical approach, but serve hi limit the kinds of conceptual reflection that is possible. Many, if not all, of lhese principles are laudable, but stating them as principles raises the quesllun, are they meant to be assumptions to philosophical thought? Desired conclusions? Themes of worthy investigation? Guides to action? Or essentialist ucscriptions? Any of these serve to limit the possibilities of the creation of CtlllCepts in response to cultural conditions. The problem, then, is not in the critique of Western philosophy inherent in ellher of these movements, it is what comes after that. And. what comes after I" by no means clear, nor is it univocal. In other words, we could imagine ullTcrent outcomes to both negritude and Afrocentrism. We could imagine II theory of difference grounded in an aesthetic, leading to the wish for a

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renewed segregation. We could imagine racial and cultural pride emerging •. based on principles or general beliefs that form the basis for world-views .• Or, we could imagine that the aestheticized self which clearly has resonance· for many would be analyzed as an expression of a platialized self, and thus rendered creative. The move to purity of culture seems, at best, counterproductive to the. creation of new concepts, whether it is the assumption of and desire for a·. purity that pre-dated "outside" cultural encounter, or the purity that is the. re-creation of a past. Dialogue between cultures has always happened, and has not been regarded (until recently) as a contamination in most cases. The, issue is not whether some mythical purity can be recovered, but whether the; conversations can be examined to determine the ways in which they have af- . fected culture. Gyekye's distinction between appropriation that has come at the behest of a culture and that which has been forced is a start, but conversation is much more variegated than this simple distinction will capture. 9 all conversations have been beneficial to all sides, and issues of power and desire have to be accounted for. But the fact that power and desire are necessary issues does not mean that we can try to side-step them by imagining purity which never existed. This is, as I have argued, another of power and desire-the power of the researcher to control the object study, and the desire of the researcher to construct a unique identity. But both cases, the deferral of power and desire yield a more precarious situation, rather than a less precarious one. Theories of cultural purity may well have productive outcomes in that they can enable a sense of cultural and self to develop, but this will not in itself guarantee that the philosophy arises from them is truly African or truly philosophical.

CULTURAL UNIVERSALS Odera Oruka, in several places but particularly the posthumously pUlJU;)U\;j\l "Cultural Fundamentals in Philosophy: Obstacles in Philosophical 10gue,"10 addresses Kwasi Wiredu's contention that there must be universals, and that these universals do not pose a barrier to discussing ticularities of African thought. Oruka's contention is not that Wiredu is . rect but that his list of universals is too short, and that in particular i·llltuiticlI mu~t be added as one of those aspects that transcends cultural bounciarles, Indeed, without the addition of this element, Wiredu's list of universals very similar to Western convictions on this issue, the result of which was use of philosophy as a tool of colonization and oppression. He also that Wiredu's requirement of morality as a cultural universal could just

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easily be held by a rational egoist position, so that some sort of sympathy is not required for human community to operate. Wiredu addresses some of Oruka's objections in his 1996 book Cultural lIniversals and Particulars. II One imagines that, if Oruka had lived to see the publication of this book, he may well have written a book of his own in response. Wiredu's comments amount to an acceptance of Oruka's revision, lind at the same time a partial demurral of Oruka's reservations on morality liS a cultural universal. My argument in this section will be as follows: First, I want to consider the notion of a universal in philosophy, to determine whether we can use this term liS a component of culture. Second, I would like to consider Wiredu's original list, and Oruka's revised list, to decide whether either of these lists will accomplish the task they set for themselves. Third, I wish to offer another view of translatability and transferability between cultures, which I believe accomplishes what both authors want, without some of the detrimental effects.

Wiredu on Cultural Universals The concept of the universal is one of the most well known in the history of ph ilosophy. For precisely this reason, it is also one of the more opaque concepts. It has been used in a variety of different debates, and given a number of different definitions. The task here will not be to give an exhaustive account (If these uses, but rather to consider Wiredu's appropriation of the concept in Ihe context of culture, and to advance some of the traditional problems related 10 universals to his particular application. Wiredu, in the third chapter of Cultural Universals and Particulars, gives a hricf analysis of various forms of universals, beginning with conceptual and cpistemic universals. The purpose of this is to add a new category of univerlIul, the cultural, which he defines as "any scheme of concepts which can be IIhared by all the cultures of humankind."12 The question of this section will he: Does this new category of cultural universals make sense? Is Wiredu's IIrgument for them cogent? To answer this question, a brief look at the notion (If the universal in the history of philosophy is in order. Most Western philosophers would probably assume that the notion of the universal is rooted in Greek philosophy. While something like this is certainly found there, the word itself seems to have gained more prominence in medieval debates. One might, for example, be tempted to identify Plato's theory (If the forms with the notion of universals, but this would be incorrect. Forms lire not universal in the later medieval sense, but are singular and unified. For Plato material or corporeal entities do not so much participate in the forms (although Plotinus, under partial influence of Aristotle, will later explicitly

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take this interpretation), but reflect and remember them. The existence of . resemblance in individual items is (according to Plato's account) due to a, demiurge who has direct access to the forms, and creates material things in rough accordance with them. Therefore, the one/many problem does not arise for Plato as it does for Aristotle, since the forms are unambiguously one, and our relation to them is not an essential one. Universals get their initial Greek. statement from Aristotle, and become one of the central issues throughout the medieval period. . The problem for Aristotle occurs because of his move toward concrete: forms rather than transcendent ones. If forms inhere in objects, how can they be both unified and particular at the same time? Aristotle sets forth his famous· list of categories, the types of general predicates one can assign any existing thing. For any particular existing thing, one should be able to identify some. accident that adheres to the substance of that thing. All things have existence; the accidents define the essence. For Aristotle, this was a necessary step in his analysis of all existing things. The goal was to find the place in the overall hierarchy of existing beings that. any particular group of things occupied. So, armed with logic and the categories, one can find the particular principles that applied to some specific and analyze the occupants of that area accordingly. Thus scientia was born. , The actual consideration of the status of these concrete forms became a· pressing issue in the early Middle Ages. Boethius, in his commentary on the Isagoge of Porphyry, outlines the contours of the problem that will animate. the discussion for the next millennium. Porphyry had raised the central ques-. tion about universals: 1) Whether genera and species exist in themselves whether they are thoughts?; 2) If they do exist in themselves, they are real or incorporeal?; 3) If they are incorporeal, whether they exist in ~f'T'
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nection, then a theory of knowledge is quite straightforward. When we try to identify what it is that we know when we know a universal such as "justice," we have a real existing thing to point to. The drawback is that it is difficult to lIccount for the metaphysical status of that existing thing. Where exactly does it exist? How does it exist? It is certainly nothing like other existing things with which we are familiar. What kind of evidence can be produced, other than the necessity of epistemology, that these universals exist? These questions proved very difficult to answer. On the other hand, if one takes what eventually beI:omes known as the nominalist position, metaphysics is now straightforward. There are no troublesome, shadowy entities to account for. But now epistemology is a problem. How can we account for knowledge? What is it that we know, for example, when we say we know about justice? If it is just a concept in the lIlind, how do I know that my concept is the same as your concept? If universals really exist, it seems we are committed to an overly rich universe; if they do not exist, we seem to be committed to some form of relativism. Medieval debates over universals consist in various attempts to address this impasse. 14 This becomes significant in the current debate over cultural universals beI:ause the problem is just as acute in this area. Wiredu asserts the existence of I:ultural universals (and Oruka agrees at this level) because this will establish Ihe possibility of knowledge across cultures. But, just as with the medieval version of the problem, the gain of a coherent epistemology comes at the expense of an incoherent metaphysics. Wiredu's core argument for the existence of cultural universals comes at the beginning of chapter 3, in the form of a reductio argument: Suppose there were no cultural universals. Then intercultural communication would be impossible. But there is intercultural communication. Therefore, there are cultural universals. 15

As we can see from this overly simple argument (which he expands in the I'cst of the chapter), the key is epistemology-we could not communicate ucross cultures if it were not for some metaphysical foundation. But arguing thut there must be a cultural universal on this basis ignores the metaphysical problems. I intend to argue that cultural universals are not needed for the purpose that Wiredu thinks they are. But even without that, the onus would be on Wiredu to address the metaphysical questions in his realist argument. Does he address these metaphysical issues? In fact, he tries to. Wiredu IIl'gues for a biological basis for his set of universals. 16 He grounds cultural universals in biological "facts." It is a little unclear which biological facts he hils in mind, especially since he explicitly denies that this entails physicalINm.17 His reference to John Dewey indicates that biology refers to the way

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organisms act and interact. From commonalities in this area arise our moral : norms, as well as our "norms of thought" and cultural universals. It is worth noting in passing that Wiredu's answer to the metaphysical problem is one to which no medieval philosopher would have resorted, for a simple reason. Appealing to biology means appealing to an aspect of human-I ity which would have been considered "lower." Biology is something we share with animals, whereas universals are things to which the mind, that which makes us uniquely human, has access. So, an account of universals will not ground the higher in the lower. The fact that we have commonalities in that area does not mean that universals are affected at all. Universals, in fact, are not grounded for the medievals in any feature of human existence at all. However, the fact that medieval philosophers did not opt for this does not mean that in the context of cultural universals a biological basis could . not conceivably work. The problem is not that this is a logically inconsistent move (as the medieval thinkers would have considered it in connection with' their version of universals), but that, as I wiII argue, it cannot be coherently, defended, and it cannot serve the purpose for which it is intended. Wiredu unfortunately gives few examples of biological commonalities in . this chapter. Dewey's theory serves as the basis for the argument, but other philosophers who focus on the connection between the biological and the. intellectual might have been brought in to clarify the issue. Maurice Merleau- . Ponty is one such thinker, whose work deals extensively with the connection. between behavior and the self.IS Unlike Dewey, he argues for knowledge at the individual as well as the social level. We do have a of "bodily intelligence," which can be seen in the various actions the performs without conscious direction, and the body's ability to "know" environment. Merleau-Ponty argues that our sense of self and the world traceable back to this kind of knowledge, and not to conceptual thinking. Why is this relevant here? Because Dewey's theory of biology is not only one available. In fact, biology may lead us to see our experience in world as very particular, perhaps mediated by social or cultural factors, certainly not universal. There is, in fact, nothing biological that is not interpreted. One might try to refer to seeming common experiences as death, but even here there is interpretation. For some, it is a passage another life, and experienced as such. For others, it is the annihilation of self. For still others, it is rest after a life of toil. There is no basic experience of death that does not come with interpretation of some sort. It therefore difficult to imagine what kind of basis biology might provide cultural universals, if biology itself cannot be seen as universal. Indeed, as many feminists have convincingly argued, biology does imply necessity, much less universality. "Natural" conditions do not i

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anything universal in the philosophical sense, but only at best indicate a set of existing conditions, in need of some interpretive framework in order to make sense out of them. Thus, the strategy of grounding cultural universals in biology will not work. Emmanuel Eze's book review of Cultural Universals and Particulars l9 analyzes the thesis that culture could be reduced to biology. His critique fol:uses on the question of the nature of instinct, which must lie at the heart of any biologically based account of cultural universals. He rightly points out that, even if we know things instinctually, the only access we have to them is through the cultures, languages, and customs that they are supposed to ground. It is interesting that both Wiredu and Eze mention Hume on this issue. Hume showed the futility of arguing for some metaphysical grounding of epistemology, although his attack was on the metaphysics of the self. As Eze argues for Wiredu's notion of cultural universals, Hume also argues for the notion of the self: the only access is through those things which are supposed to come after the entity in question. We have, therefore, no reason to suppose that these things exist except by inference, or as Hume puts it, through custom, a learned and culturally situated ability. Eze's critique of Wiredu is on track, but stops short of its own full implications. Eze's review points out the limitations of Wiredu's biological foundation of communication. He emphasizes our inability to determine where instinct stops and culture starts. He shows that we are driven to cultural universals in culture itself, rather than in biology, and thus do not get out of the metaphysical problem I mentioned earlier. We cannot, in short, have a "universal rcpresentation of the universal." Eze also points out another important aspect of the critique of universalism. He argues that the issue does not really conl:crn the abstract idea of the existence of a cultural universal (which is which I have been addressing), but rather concrete communication itself. Various candidates have been presented as universal when in fact they are anything hut that, and have been used to impose ideas or practices on others. In this, Eze agrees with a criticism by Oruka, who points out that Wiredu's list of universals was actually used by Europe to marginalize Africa. 20 Oruka's wnclusion is that the list needs amending, and he adds intuition (which I will t1iscuss presently). Eze's conclusion is that we cannot avoid attending to the interpretations and meanings that come with facts. There is another problem that is implied by Eze's critique, although it Is not mentioned explicitly there. Wiredu continually refers to the observuhle fact of communication between cultures as the proof that there must he something which undergirds this phenomenon (as, for example, in his /'n/uctio argument mentioned earlier). But what if his assumption that communication occurs is incorrect? Certainly talk occurs, but that is a far cry

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from communication. Habermas argues that communication is systematically distorted due to the technological forces introduced into bureaucratic and other power-based relationships. Marx points out that alienated consciousness arises from class structures that solidify certain mindsets and vocabularies. Many other post-colonial writers have taken these leads, and others, to show that in fact dominant discourse systematically marginalizes the stories of the disenfranchised. The work of the subaltern group in India is focused on exactly this issue. The existence of talk is not enough to establish that communication also exists. It is certainly not enough to require that cultural universals exist. We would require some way of demonstrating that the systematic distortion. which I have just described is not a factor. Wiredu does not offer any way of countering this, other than a kind of faith that communication actually occurs .. Even if we admitted that communication occurs at some rudimentary level, . for example, the level of talk about basic human activities, this still does not. mean that communication about philosophical issues or political identities. can occur. Wiredu rightly tries to resist Quine'S indeterminacy of translation thesis, but in fact he has not escaped its grip. The argument is a circular one, . without the metaphysical Archimedean point of biology. The fact of communication, for Wiredu, establishes that there is something that binds conversants together, but in fact there is no guarantee that actual communication has taken place apart from reference to some non-linguistic phenomenon such as resultant action. This, however, as Quine pointed out, is no guarantee that communication has actually occurred at all. Wiredu's answer to Quine is very simple-untranslatability does not mean unintelligibility.21 While this may be true, it does not suggest that ,,'U"'J'''E,'~''-' ity is guaranteed, much less does it suggest that there are cultural u that undergird that intelligibility. Wiredu in effect accepts Quine's when in fact he should be resisting it (or, as I will suggest later in my sion of Hallen and Sodipo's work, use it positively as a philosophical portunity, rather than negatively as a limit on intelligibility). is possible, if we dispense with the idea that translation relies only on denotations of words and how they connect to some underlying """"'''') I will argue later that both translation and intelligibility are constant fel3,luret of human interaction, but that they do not require a reference to a cal base, either the incommensurable ones that Quine assumes, or the universals that Wiredu assumes. So, communication cannot be guaranteed by simple observation there could be systematic misunderstanding due to political, class, E, ..."'.......1 or other ontological commitments), it cannot be guaranteed by what it (biology is insufficient, as Eze and I have argued), and it cannot be

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anteed by what results from it (since that too is ambiguous, according to Quine). If there is no guarantee of the possibility of communication, we are left in a world of contingency. We are forced to work things out in a situation ot' partial information, not knowing the complete consequences of our aclions. This might be understood by Wiredu as relativism, but in fact it is not. Contingency in communication points to the fact that there are good reasons much of the time to draw certain conclusions about meanings, but that these reasons do not come from metaphysical arguments. They come from the fact Ihat We as humans are (self-)interpreting beings, who exist in a world of inIl:rpretations, and who have become competent to a greater or lesser degree at negotiating the contingencies of that world. Relativism implies that anything goes, that there are no better or worse interpretations in communication. But Ihere are good reasons for us to tell the difference between better and worse in Ihe interpretation of communication; we can only do this, though, if we give up the quest to find the one true understanding in any given situation. Regarded most cynically, cultural universals give the philosopher a kind of tool to use on the rest of the world of discourse. The philosopher becomes Ihe only logical arbiter of communication, for who but the philosopher really knows about universals? That is, after all, philosophy's traditional object of study, and it is only tangentially relevant to other disciplines. And so, there is a kind of self-serving aspect to this notion of cultural universals for philosophers. If communication happens, as Wiredu argues, who is the only one rcally qualified to determine whether it happens properly? The philosopher, of course. I suspect that members of other disciplines might see this as just anolher example of the colonial aspirations or assumptions of philosophy itself. It is the contex.t of shared meanings within different contexts that provides Ihe basis for communication, both within and between disciplines, and also within and between cultures, and not some special access to an object such as u cultural universal. Philosophers do not have a special ability to arbitrate or uivine truth in communication. The key will be to find ways of letting those contexts of shared meanings show themselves, to be able to reflect on their nature and critique them for their limitations. As mentioned earlier, the problem for Wiredu (and by extension, Oruka) is Ihat the nature of a universal is unclear. This problem has another manifestalion, unique to the concept of the cultural universal. Both Wiredu and Oruka Nccm to want to insist that the universal is held at the level of the culture, liS opposed to the level of the individual. The only other interpretation of Ihc term "cultural universal" is that these are cultural components that all Individuals must hold. But it is not clear that either list is a list of cultural components. They all seem to be attributes of individuals. It is not cultures Ihat are moral or immoral, but individuals. It is not cultures that have intuition

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or reason, but individuals. If we use terms like "rational" or "moral" about cultures, we usually intend to recognize either explicit policies of governments, or social character of people. But even in this second case, to say that a culture is moral is actually to say that there is an ethos in which certain values are regarded highly by the members of the culture. So the first sense must be the one that holds-these are attributes normally ascribed to individuals which are held by cultures, not attributes normally ascribed to cultures which are held by individuals. But what could it mean, that a universal exists at the level of culture'! Is it that every culture has certain basic components necessarily, and by reason of this there is the possibility of comparison and communication? Why would these accomplish that task? These are very abstract components that have, been offered here. Is it really the case that true communication can take place on the basis of these abstractions, or is this simply something the scholar can use to pretend there is some level field? Wiugenstein gives us the most devastating critique of this sort of notion. He argues in the Philosophical Investigations (sections 65-77) that we use terms as if they have a constant meaning across different domains. In fact, they do, not. For example, we might suppose that the word "win" has a constant meaning, but a little reflection shows that it does not. Winning a football game is , not like winning a basketball game-the first involves kicking a ball into a net more times than one's opponent, the second involves throwing it through a hoop more times than one's opponent (this is, of course, highly simplified). We might say that this difference is a minor one, and the meaning of the word is . still intact. However, it seems more likely that we are able to put ourselves in the way of thinking of each of these games, and thus understand the differences at a deeper level. We later come along and suppose that one word captures same meaning in both contexts, when in fact it does not. And we could add ther complications to winning-winning a golf game means attaining a rather than a higher score. Winning a battle does not necessarily mean SC()fllllll at all. Winning a lottery does not involve competition, but chance. Winning political race has a kind of "scoring," but very different from any of these examples. And winning a mate's heart is something else entirely. So, arguing for the need to have a metaphysical entity, or set of entities, guarantee communication may simply paper over Wittgenstein's that even if words have denotations within specific contexts, arguing there is identity across different contexts is very difficult. Kwame Gyekye also addresses the question of universals, although not explicitly deal with cultural universals. 22 His intention is to address question of whether philosophical ideas or doctrines are particular, that is, relevant or tied to a time or place, or whether they are universal, that is,

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transcend the times and cultures that produced them. Wiredu was interested in finding a basis for communication between cultures, while Gyekye is interested in determining whether ideas can travel. The two questions are not identical, but are related; Wiredu addresses the preconditions for conversation, Gyekye addresses the content of conversation. Gyekye argues for a modified form of universalism while recognizing the significance of the particularist position.23 He regards the content of philosophical thought, as well as the rationality that supports it, to be accessible apart from culture. At the same time, he recognizes that human problems always appear as contextualized. His defense of this position is that, while human problems and experiences are not universal, the general goals of humanity are universal. He has in mind things like ethical values, which Wiredu also includes on his list of cultural universals. Gyekye distinguishes between "essential universalism" and "contingent universalism," and places ethical values in general in the first category. The second includes ideas that have gained wide popularity due to strong arguments or pragmatic value. In this category he includes practices such as free market economies. Now, will this distinction help Wiredu? On the surface, it seems like it might, since one might argue that we can distinguish between those cultural artifacts that have essential universality and make them the basis for intercultural communication, and those which have only particular universality, and suggest that most of my objections apply only to them. But I have not been arguing for particularism. I have been arguing that the distinction between universals and particulars is based in a set of metaphysical commitments that are problematic. The key is not to find the "real" universals, which can still ground communication. No universals will successfully do this, if taken as a priori metaphysical commitments. And this turns out to be a problem for Gyekye as well. While his position seems to be a reasonable middle road, it does not manage to avoid the medieval problem mentioned earlier, that metaphysics and epistemology exist in an uneasy tension when it comes to the problem of universals. We have to ask what his universals are meant to accomplish, and the answer, like that for Wiredu, seems to be that they guarantee epistemology. If that is the case, the metaphysil:s of these universals will have to be considered closely. It seems that he will be no more successful in defending their existence than Wiredu was. Interestingly, however, Gyekye adds another component to the discussion. lIe suggests that essential universals may be found in the common goals of humanity.24 He does not follow this up, unfortunately, but it does introduce an element that I will bring up again later-the possibility that universals do not e)(i8t, but rather are "earned," or regarded as a goal of thought rather than a presupposition. Perhaps truth (universals) does not precede meaning (cultural

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understanding), but meaning precedes truth. If universals are found in what , humans strive for, and more specifically in their attempts to communicate, then we may see the universal as arising from human interaction. It will then be the earned manifestation of human existence, rather than the presupposition of communication. This is a more fruitful path, I believe. As mentioned earlier, Oruka makes an addition to Wiredu's list of cultural universals: intuition. Wiredu essentially agrees with this addition. Does this clear up the problems that I have already outlined? I believe it does not. It certainly does not address the issue of the incoherent metaphysics that underlies cultural universals. However, it might be seen to address the problem of . the inability to truly ground conversation in abstractions. If intuition exists, and is shared between cultures, it seems that at least some of the problems might be answered. Intuition is a notoriously ambiguous concept, though. Oruka talks of it as , the fifth of five ways of knowing: Logic (rationality), Science (induction), Religion (faith and myth), Common Sense, and Intuition. It is "a form of mental skill which helps the mind to extrapolate from experience and come to establish extra-statistical inductive truths, or it enables the mind to make. a correct/plausible logical inference without any established or known rules of procedure."25 That this exists as a form of "reasoning" I do not wish to dispute. Oruka cites various sages as evidence that intuition forms part of sagacity, and they . do more than just apply intuition, but also reflect upon it. Oruka is correct when he says that many of the advances in philosophy are not due to logical rigor, but something like intuition. Even in the philosophy of science, there is Whewell's (disputed) distinction between the context of discovery (which could include intuition) and the context of justification (which is rigidly methodological). One might also look to C. S. Peirce's notion of "abduction," a very similar concept to Oruka's "intuition." The issue here is not the existence of intuition, but whether it will aid in establishing that cultural universals ex.. ist and function as an epistemological guarantee of communication. The fact that intuition exists does not tell us anything about intuitions particular. When philosophers such as Hountondji attempt to ground possibility of communication on reason, they mean not just that there is faculty or capability of reason, but also that there are basic ground rules that transcend cultures. If it was only a faculty of the mind, there would be no reason to suppose that anything is unified about it. 26 But what transcendental rules could intuition have? The whole point is that it is knowledge that the traditional bounds of rules. So, it cannot serve as a basis for intercultural communication, since the bare fact of its existence as a human capability does. not in itself tell us anything about the content of these intuitions. . I

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Indeed, the issue goes further than just the content of intuition. There is one thing that has not been taken into account in the discussion of cultural universals, and it applies equally to Wiredu as to Oruka's category of intuition. Intentionality is ignored. Franz Brentano and Edmund Husserl in the late nineteenth century recognized that our statements about subjectivity and mental content cannot be divorced from the world in which they participate. Descartes' starting point, the bare thinking thing, does not exist, because all thought is about something. We do not simply think, we think about something. Thus, we cannot get at any kind of pure consciousness, but only at its actions in a world. This served to radically change the conception of consciousness, and began the break of the subject-object dichotomy. If previously one could take for granted that there were subjects in and of themselves, and also objects with lhe same status, one could no longer afford this. Husser! attempted to show how our metaphysical commitments were really an attempt to separate the subject and the object, and only talk about one of these without the other. He argued that philosophy needed a firm, even Cartesian basis, and this would come through considering the only item that does not come with unspoken metaphysical commitments-our experience. Talk of cultural universals in general and intuition in particular misses Husserl's basic insight that we cannot suppose there are metaphysically intact extL:rnal objects that can be considered apart from the experience of the inquirer. We must be careful here; this is not simply the debate between realism and idealism. It is not the question of whether universals have a real existence in lind of themselves, or are contents of someone's mind, or are created by many minds. All these are also metaphysical positions, and detract from the real queslion: what is the experience that we are labeling a cultural universal? What does that statement stand for, stripped of its unspoken metaphysical commitments? There is something there worth considering, but it is not captured by proposing more metaphysics. It is also important to note that by referring to experience we lire not referring to some form of empiricism. That too is another metaphysical viewpoint, one which places the source of knowledge in the object rather than IhL: subject. The point here is to recognize that the subject-object distinction is II derivative one, and that experience takes in both of these poles. Of course, Husserl's critique of metaphysics has itself been critiqued throughout the twentieth century. The critiques, however, tend to take his project further, rather than rescuing metaphysics. Heidegger points out that description of experience cannot take place outside of interpretation, and that intentionality supposes that we actually attend fully to our actions, which in fUL:t is not the case. Ricoeur and Derrida point out that Husserl's conception of the subject still has serious problems. Sartre resists Hussert's essentialism, und his search for certain foundations. But the fact that his phenomenology

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has been largely revised does not detract from his basic observation that intentionality must be a component of all discourse on human experience. The critics tend to go beyond intentionality, not deny it. And this is the key here-the notion of communication that treats language as an object or a tool which needs metaphysical grounding is highly problematic. Intentionality is the first step away from that view of language, and toward a view that does not attempt to separate language from issues of culture and selfhood. There is another problem that also relates to metaphysics. Wiredu assumes that the issue in communication (and ultimately also in philosophy) is the transference of concepts from one language or culture to another. Chapter 7, "Formulating Modern Thought in African Languages," especially, is devoted to this issue. Even though at one point he wants to avoid "presupposing any particular theory about the ontological nature of concepts,"27 it is clear that concepts do have an ontological status, and we can judge the success or the failure of their transference. This judgment seems to have an epistemological character to it; one might argue that. like Kant, judgment needs to be deferred to an area outside of epistemology. Be that as it may, it is not necessarily true ' that concepts are transferred from one language to another at all. It is possible, following Heidegger, to see concepts as later reflections and abstractions on lived experience. In that case, it would make no sense to ask whether a concept is successfully represented in another language without also asking about the life world that that concept is an abstraction of. Wiredu's example, borrowed from Okot p'Bitek. of a ludicrous mistranslation by some missionaries of a theological concept into Luo, is not so much the failure of the transfer of 28 a concept, as the failure of dialogue across two different life-worlds. Maybe Augustine was right after all ~concepts cannot be transferred at all, but rather contingent conversation that explores similarities and differences is possible. Then, concepts may be represented in a new context. One might object that this conversation must take place using and so the problem is a circular one. But this depends on one's definition a concept. If it is an abstraction, one might ask, an abstraction from What is left out to produce this? What part of human understanding is assumed or not deemed important enough to produce this concept? COlnce:pts, need not simply be representations of universals; they may be derivative, even deficient representations of particulars. So, the question to ask is about how concepts might be lifted from one contex.t and put in another metaphysical act), but rather how an ex.change may be set up, based ...... -.,.~ on commonly held particulars, that might together produce a new kind of cept. It is not a matter of transference, but of finding the point of connl~ct.lon that might sustain a particular kind of concept in a given exchange. There no guarantee that such a connection will ever be found, but if Wittgenstein

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right. there are enough connections between enough contexts of meaning that concepts will find a new home in the particular conversation. The example of Okot's that Wiredu uses is instructive for another reason. Simply trying to transplant a concept does not come to terms with the agendas of the particular members of a conversation. In this case, the missionaries clearly have an agenda, momentarily thwarted by the strange mistranslation. However, this is not the benign transfer of concepts that Wiredu seems to see. The purpose is conversion, in this case, and indeed we may just as well wonder whether there was an agenda on the part of the Luo elders that were being questioned. 29 The conversation is shot through with power relationships and unspoken intentions. There is no simple transfer of concepts here, and even if this was "successfully" translated using a local image that was roughly similar, it does not mean that any conversation has been set up in which each party is able to inquire about the designs of the other, or in which the full implications of this concept can be investigated. Indeed, the putative similarity of the concept in this example is not a real similarity at all, because it cannot be investigated if it is left as a metaphysical transference. Later, Wiredu interprets Okot (in the example) to be saying that the concepts of Logos and creation did not exist in Luo society.3O He moves from here to reflect on the ways that words are borrowed in a language, to express things that that language could not formerly express. One might ask, though, what it means for a concept to "exist" in a language. Does it mean that the concept has currency? Does it mean that the concept lies in potentia, perhaps not yet having a word but still being consistent with the language in some way? When a language borrows a word, does this suggest that the concept did not exist, or that there was a word in another language that expressed some aspect in a slightly different way, and therefore was found useful? English is particularly adept at this. Are the slight variations actually different concepts? What if the concept could be expressed using a sentence, but people wanted to use a single word to express the same thing? Then the concept ex.ists, on this hypothesis, and the borrowing is a matter of utility, rather than the nonexistence of a concept. Ironically, Wiredu is able to explain in English the shadings of meaning of the supposedly untranslatable terms in Luo and Akan quite nicely, if less elegantly than the word in the African language might succeed in doing. One supposes that the reverse would also be possible. This suggests that the concept is not so much being transferred, as it is being conlcxtualized on the basis of a dialogue between two different languages. Wiredu mentions that Okot accounts for the fact that these notions did not exist by saying that the Luo are not a metaphysical people. J1 He disagrees, IIrguing that a people might be metaphysical but not transcendental. Their m~taphysics may be based on concrete experience. But perhaps Okot was dis-

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missed too cavalierly. He may just be correct, that in fact the kind of discourse in this culture does not tend to abstract its reflection, but roots it in already existing meaning. In fact, I would argue that this is not just true of the Luo, but of human communication in general. It is a Western rationalist prejudice, inherited in the modern age from Descartes, that our minds are a repository for concepts which are separated from the world of human action. It seems that there is no real way of telling whether a concept exists or not in a culture without discourse about concepts, which is bound to use some concepts of some sort. We have a circle here, perhaps hermeneutic, but still at the level of discourse. Let me go further: it may even be possible to say that concepts do not exist at all, at least not as separately existing things. This is not just a nominalist position, which argues that concepts just point to ideas in the mind rather than some real thing somewhere. Rather, it is the position that concepts do not have any metaphysical status at all. They are not metaphysical entities. They are, rather, the product of our reflection on our experience of the world. We name, we describe. These names and descriptions only ever make sense in the context of the practice and social web of meaning out of which they come. We are able to communicate not only because we have a store of concepts, but because we have commonly held meanings which we are able to name and reflect upon. When we try to communicate across cultural boundaries, we find that there is a greater or fewer number of meanings that are shared, and these are discovered only through communication. Note, communication is needed to establish shared meaning, and shared meaning , is needed for communication. That is a true hermeneutical circle. As humans, we find ourselves thrown in the middle of the circle between language and prdctice, and we cannot suppose that one precedes the other or can be defined in isolation from the other. This is not just a circle between elements of discourse, concepts and their clarifying conversations. This is a circle between a world of meaning and the reflection we are able to make about it. This circle takes into account that the world of meaning is not fixed, and not exhaustible with our set of reflections· on it. Concepts may arise, because meaning always outstrips our ability to re- . flect We know more than we can say. Oruka is right - intuition is an important· feature of human know ledge. Except this intuition should not be confused with. a special or mystical insight of "true" reality. It is simply our ability to show forth aspects of the world of meaning that previously had not been uncovered, by situating ourselves as self-interpreting beings who can harness that meaning for particular purposes, and critique its limits in new ways. Concepts also arise not because we share elements of experience, but precisely because we do not. As we try to navigate new cultural space, we find I

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ourselves taking familiar concepts and essentially doing violence to them in order to get them to function in a new place. Those concepts might have come from the new place, or they might come from another place, but in either case they are inadequate for the experience at hand. New concepts are needed, and they come because of the incommensurable contexts in which we find ourselves, and in which we must reason. None of this means that the word "concept" cannot be used. Concepts are products of a particular kind of questioning. What I am resisting is ascribing a metaphysical status to concepts, and then supposing that in this reified state they can exist or fail to exist in a particular culture, and they can be transferred. Indeed, I am ultimately resisting metaphysics itself with this move, and not simply suggesting that an inhabitant of this category in fact does not belong there. Communication does not depend on the reification of any particular notion, whether that is a concept, an intuition, or a cultural universal. The point to this section is this: looking for a metaphysical grounding for cultural interaction will not work, nor will looking for some mental attribute or content that is universally held. The first turns out to be incoherent, and the second, even if one assents to the universality of certain capabilities of the mind, will not be enough to guarantee commonality without bringing in intentionality, at which point the question is shifted from human capabilities and their objects, to human experience. The question moves from metaphysics to phenomenological hermeneutics.

Rehabilitating the Universal So, what do we make of cultural universals such as (to use Wiredu's list with Oruka's addition, which Wiredu agrees t0 32 ) logic, science, humanness, communication, and intuition? Are these really terms that transcend cultures, or are they defined, like the term "to win," in the context of the systems of meaning that contain them? I would argue that it is the second. Nevertheless, Ihere is kind of value in reflecting about them, even if they are fictions. There can, after all, be useful fictions in the world. The cultural universal is a metaphysical attempt to provide the basis for inter-cultural communication. It serves as a kind of guarantee that, in this case, Africans have a seat at the table of philosophical discourse by establishing that they have the proper papers. Past attempts tended to be at the level of the individual, arguing that Africans personally had the capabilities for this activity. More recently, those such as Oruka have tried to establish Ihis by showing that there is an intrinsic originality in the culture, and thus Africans not only have a philosophical heritage, but it has something to contribute both to African society and the world in general. This attempt

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moves the issue of ground to the level of culture, to demonstrate that African culture has everything any culture needs to participate in philosophical discourse. What if the point was simply granted? What if African scholars did not need to continue proving that they have a place at the table, but could simply proceed based on the conviction that the place already exists? I want to. try t.o argue that this place is already there, and does not have to be earned III thIs way. This does not, of course, suggest that there is no opposition to African philosophy even today. But, as with feminism, there must come a time when one realizes that everyone that is going to be persuaded already has been, and now it is time to move past the attempts at self-justification. There are other reasons that one might be attracted to the notion of cultural universals. Both Wiredu and Oruka want to establish some general grounds for communication between cultures. They want to resist the notion that cultures are hermetically sealed sets of practice and discourse that no one else can have access to. They want to give concrete examples of starting points for dialogue. As I have argued, cultural universals will not successfully meet these objectives. They do not form a coherent basis for communication, they are not . able to address the possibility that communication is systematically distorted, and their existence is open to question. However, the goals themselves are worth taking seriously. The problem is that we cannot start from the assumption that communication exists, and that we simply have to account for it. But it is worth arguing against the opposite extreme as well. We cannot simply assume that all attempts at communication are alienated or the result of false consciousness. This is a self refuting argument, for those who hold this argu- . ment invariably choose some writers or thinkers to "trust," or at least agree:. with, provisionally. On what basis could these be chosen? It could be simply: arbitrary, but that rarely seems to be the case. In fact, if there was no possibility of communication at all due to pervasive systematic distortion, either those who attempted it would simply not have realized it yet (and that would include everyone, even the staunchest critics of the possibility of communication), or there is the realization that sometimes, at some level, communication occurs. If it is at least possible, the question now becomes, how do we communicate even given the ever-present probability of distortion? How is . connection possible, without resorting to a metaphysical basis which, as has· been shown, cannot be consistently held? Earlier I mentioned the idea that we might focus on already shared meanings as the basis for communication. This idea clearly has its roots in Heidegger, Gadamer, and Ricoeur, and has been critiqued by various post-structuralists such as Derrida, as well as thinkers such as Foucault and Habermas.

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The criticisms vary widely. Derrida maintains that such shared meanings are inherently unstable, and carry the seeds of their binary oppositions at all times. At the same time, there is a breakdown of subjectivity such that these putative meanings serve only to problematize the subject itself, rendering communication both externally and internally obscure. Foucault would point out the various ways that our knowledge bears the imprint of power relations. Habermas agrees that hermeneutics is necessary, but then argues that until there is a level playing field for communication we cannot expect shared meanings to do anything but replicate their coercive and technocratic origins. These criticisms are not, though, completely devastating in their force. We might resist them by, ironically, turning to the concept that I have been arguing against for the last few pages. We might ask whether there is anything universal that could resist the barriers to communication. As I have argued, that universal cannot be thought of as metaphysical, or for that matter epistemological. It will not be a capability of the mind, or a concept that is held by everyone, and it will not be a cultural universal, rooted in biology or anywhere else. But is there any universal left, after all these have been ruled out? Perhaps there is. Wiredu's intuition (to use Oruka's addition) that there must be something connecting dialogue partners is correct. His attempts to theorize this universality is informed by the metaphysical commitments he holds, but if we take the issue out of the realm of metaphysics, the universal may again appear. As well, his conviction that conversation does occur is one I want to agree with as well. Earlier I cast this assumption into suspicion, but in fact the real target of that suspicion was not the existence of conversation at least some of the time, but the inability of a metaphysical account to deal with the problem of systematically alienated discourse. It becomes one of the contingencies of language, unrecognizable and undiscussable, rather than an assumption of the possibility of communication, and therefore something that can be addressed as a matter of principle. If there is something universal, though, and we grant that there is communication, from where could these arise, if metaphysics is not the answer? Perhaps the key is to recognize that the universal is the result of dialogical reflection, not the presupposition of it. Universals do not make conversation possible, but they do form the goal of conversation. How can this be done? In dialogue, the heard is as important as the said. Philosophy has been founded on the utterance, or the claim, and has forgotten the other side of Ihis communicative act. 33 If we only attend to the claim, then its legitimacy has to be upheld in its own terms. This is the root of Wiredu's metaphysical lIefense. It assumes certain features about the subject that produces language, and locates the nature of the utterance in that person's intentions. Even the recipient can be explained in terms of the producer of language, by assuming

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that the producer is aiming his thoughts, through words, at an audience which he also has conceptually anticipated. So, strictly speaking, the dialogue is a monologue, for the speaker is working with both his or her own construction of thought into language, as well as his or her own construction of the recipient. Under this model, a metaphysical story for the possibility of communication seems like the only option. What if this was turned around? What if the hearer is taken as significant in the act of communication? One might argue that this seems to lead us to a reader-response theory of communication, the common charge against which is that of relativism. But this need not be the case. Relativism is also a metaphysical account, one which locates meaning in a different subject. But what if subjects, either producers of language or recipients of it, are not in complete control of meaning? It could be that the dialogue itself conditions the kinds of subjects that can take part in i1. 34 So, where does hearing fit into this? Notice that the emphasis is not on the receiving subject, but on the act of hearing. Hearing presumes a social responsibility to utterance. If one's meaning is not the property of the speaker, nor is it relativized in the person of the recipient, the third option is that it is in the social context that makes the conversation possible at all. At the same time, it is not reducible to that social context. Conversation cannot be traced directly back to the roles of the conversants in a social milieu. It is not deterministic in this sense. So, the conversation is necessarily rooted in the social structure that makes it possible, without being determined by that structure. How is this possible? Through the intersection of hearing, and the expression of the universal. The universal, as mentioned earlier and as alluded to by Gyekye, is not the beginning point, but the end point of the conversation. It is, indeed, not always a realized end point, in both senses-it is not always grasped by the participants, and it is not always brought to full fruition. Nevertheless, it forms one of the necessary trajectories of the conversation. Wiredu himself might do well to take the notion of listening seriously. At the beginning of chapter 8 of Cultural Universals and Particulars, he says this: Ask any group of Akans who speak English what is the Akan word for truth and, unless they have made a special study of the matter, the chances are that they will answer Nokware. In a certain sense they would be right. But a little reflection discloses a complication. The opposite of nokware is nkontompo, which means lies. But the opposite of truth is falsity, not lies. 35

Wiredu goes on to point out that the people referred to would be responding with a moral sense of the term, rather than an epistemological sense, and he gives some reasons as to why this response might be forthcoming.

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But what if we actually listen to what these imagined respondents said, rather than assuming the answer beforehand? Is it simply that the English word is ambiguous, and therefore the respondents chose a response that seemed appropriate? If we take Wiredu at his word, that most people would answer this way, why might this systematic "error" occur? Perhaps in fact what the respondents are reacting to is the notion that truth is, as Wiredu puts it, "simply ... what is the case." In his explanation of the term itself, Wiredu points out that nokware is made of two words that translate as "one mouth." He raises, but rejects as "extremely implausible" the notion that the Akan conception of the cognitive sense of truth has anything to do with communal agreement. Two comments might be made about this. First, it is Wiredu's interpolation that speaking with one mouth refers to communal unanimity, which has a formal social and political sense to it. This seems to be the correct interpretation, given the comments he makes a bit further on, about the Akan sense of disparity between the wise members of society and the general populace. 36 It could be that speaking with one mouth refers to a less formal notion of common understanding, and it is possible that complete unanimity is not implied, but rather common wisdom. Second: if we take this less formal sense, the Akan notion of truth could just as easily be taken as another path apart from "cognitive" truth. What if this abstract notion of truth itself is not one that is commonly accepted? What if Wiredu himself, even as a native speaker of Akan, comes to his own language with philosophical preconceptions? The distinction that he makes between truth and truthfulness may in fact be an inappropriate measure to use in this case. I do not know the Akan language at all, and it is not up to me to say in any way what terms in Akan actually mean. I am simply trying to suggest that Wiredu, in the example he gives, seems to approach his own language with certain assumptions about how truth works, and then proceeds to judge whether the language itself contains these prior assumptions. Wiredu indeed does go on to consider ways in which nokware has senses of truth connected with it. However, this is done on the basis of conceptual analysis, not on the basis of finding out the shared meaning within the culture. I am arguing that we should take a statement like this on face value, and if we find discrepancies with what we expect, this should serve to throw a light on our expectations as much as it does on the terms in conflict. The light, alas, does not shine on expectations in this account. It should be mentioned that this lacuna in Wiredu's discussion of truth is highly ironic for more than one reason. The most ironic part, it seems to me, is that one of the major points of his book is that we should attend to the African languages to find out the indigenous philosophical understandings, rather than trying to force foreign concepts to fit where they do not belong.

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He is clearly right about this, and my critique here is intended to hold him to his own standard. Philosophy itself must be rooted in local soil, and listening holds forth the possibility that not only foreign concepts, but also foreign , metaphysics and definitions may be questioned. Listening might show that . the possibility that he rejects, in fact is a possibility that needs to be taken seriously. Listening finds the way to allow what is said by the other, even the other in one's own language, to establish its own meaning. . One might also see this exemplified in the thought of Oruka's sages, and in the sage philosophy project itself. In one sense, these sages are not really heard, since they are subjected to a programmed set of questions designed to determine whether they fit into the category of philosophical sage. I have earlier argued that the project of classifying sages is actually in tension with addressing their thought, rather than in continuity with it, since it requires a certain stance of objectivity that must be abandoned if the meaning is to be taken seriously. What would it be like to listen to the sages? First, it is worth noting that the sages themselves tend to focus on issues related to their own communities. This might be because the explicit questioning tended to elicit this sort of response, but it is likely also a function of the rootedness of their knowledge. Most attempts at philosophical abstraction seem to come at the behest of the questioner. In real dialogue, of course, each party listens to the other and adjusts his or her trajectory of thought based on the input of the other. But in the case of the sages, it may well be more useful to listen to what is not being said, to listen to the difference between the description given to the researcher and the talk among the people, rather than simply looking for particular views. Silences are as important as words. Listening to the sages will involve trying to determine what their agenda , is. Why did they agree to be interviewed at all? What is their construction of their thought, as opposed to the construction brought by the trained philosopher? Does their thought even fit nicely into the categories of metaphysics, . epistemology, axiology, and methodology? If not, what kind of structure does . make sense out of their account? None of this suggests that we should revert to ethnophilosophy, if by that we mean the investigation of a world-view held uncritically. There may be . plenty of critique involved; it is just that critique may be defined differently than the trained philosopher is willing to admit. Listening involves allowing . thought to find its own structure, rather than coming with a pre-determined . structure and fitting the pieces in. Listening also means giving the space for. true critique in a dialogue. The fact that the sages are currently not listened to, does not mean that they cannot be. But it will require an adjustment on the part of researchers, to be able to hear what is being said, rather than anticipating it structurally. <

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One might use examples from other strands of African philosophy, and indeed from philosophy in other parts of the world as well. But wherever the examples come from, the point is the same-universals can emerge properly only when we take into account from the beginning the meaning that a dialogue partner takes as significant. Then, in the process of reflection on practical and particular experience, we find the basis for cross-cultural communication.

NOTES 1. Sophie Oluwole, "The Cultural Enslavement of the African Mind" in The Essentials of African Studies. Vol. I., Sophie Oluwoke, ed. (Lagos, Nigeria: General African Studies Programme, University of Lagos, 1997): 129-47. For a similar argument, see Sophie Oluwole, "The Africanness of a Philosophy" in Postkoloniales Philosophieren: Afrika, Nagl-Docekal and Franz Wimmer, eds. (Wien & Munich: R. Oldenbourg Verlag, 1992): 101-124. 2. Kwasi Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars: An African Perspective (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996), 136ff. 3. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 224. 4. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 224. 5. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 225. 6. Gyekye, it should be noted, does not agree that people do not tend to reflect on their cultural activities (227-29), and at one level I would agree with him. Humans are always in the dialectical process of being both inside and outside their own activities, both doing and reflecting. However, they do not reflect on these practices as artifacts of culture, particularly, or as elements within some sort of system. That structural style of thought is the kind of reflection that separates people from their own actions, and supposes that they can be objective toward them. Reflection is necessary, and with it comes critique, as Gyekye argues, but that does not entail anything about cultural capacities or elements. 7. See, for example, Charles Taylor, "Explanation and the Sciences of Man" in Philosophical Papers II (Cambridge, Mass.: Cambridge University Press, 1985). 8. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 230. 9. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 224-25. 10. Odera Oruka, "Cultural Fundamentals in Philosophy: Obstacles in Philosophical Dialogue" in Practical Philosophy: In Search of an Ethical Minimum (Nairobi, Kenya: East African Educational Publishers, 1997). 11. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 201-203. 12. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 21. 13. The one-many problem becomes acute in the Christian Middle Ages due to the need to think through the problem of the Trinity. While God was not seen to be a universal, the issues were analogous enough to arise together. 14. It should be noted that the issue is not as polarized as this simplified account makes it seem. Some very imaginative attempts to resolve this problem produced

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answers which had tolerably good epistemology and metaphysics. The fact thai thinkers continually returned to the problem suggests that nothing was ever finally solved, though. One might regard the modern age as the triumph of nominalism, and the tmnsformation of the universal into the scientific generalization. This might, in tum, suggest that epistemology became straightforward. As any student of the history of philosophy knows, however, this is hardly the case. By the twentieth century, skepticism toward both epistemology and metaphysics has become pervasive, in part because of the inability to resolve the problem of universals. J 5. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 21. 16. Wiredu, ''The Biological Foundation of Universal Norms" in Cultural Universals and Particulars, 34-41. 17. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 36. 18. See, for example, Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1962). 19. Emmanuel Eze, "What are Cultural Universals,! Cultural Universals and Particulars by Kwasi Wiredu." African Philosophy 11:1 (1998): 73-82. 20. Oruka, "Cultural Fundamentals in Philosophy," 206. 21. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 25. 22. Kwame Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity: Philosophical Reflections on the African Experience (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 1997): 27-33. 23. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 30-31. 24. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 32. 25. Oruka, "Cultural Fundamentals in Philosophy," 202. 26. 1 want to argue that grounding communication in reason is no more successful than grounding it in cultural universals, but that argument will come elsewhere. 27. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 82. 28. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 81. The example, from Okot via Wiredu: "In 1911, Italian Catholic priests put before a group of Acholi elders the question 'Who created you?' and because the Luo language does not have an" independent concept of create or creation, the question was rendered to mean 'Who moulded you?' But this was still meaningless, because human beings are born of their mothers. The elders told the visitors they did not know. But we are told that this reply was unsatisfactory, and the missionaries insisted that a satisfactory answer must be , given. One of the elders remembered that, although a person may be born normally, when he is afflicted with tuberculosis of the spine, then he loses his normal figure, he gets 'moulded.' So he said, 'Rubanga' is the one who moulds people." This is the name of the hostile spirit which the Acholi believe causes the hunch or hump on the back. And instead of exorcising these hostile spirits and sending them among pigs, the representatives of Jesus Christ began to preach that Rubanga was the Holy Father who created the Acholi." 29. This. of course, happens; witness the controversy in the 1960s over Margaret' Mead's Coming of Age in Samoa. 30. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 84-85. 31. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 86ff. 32. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 201-202.

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33. The best work on the "heard" in philosophy is Gemma Corradi Fiumara The Other Side Of Language: A Philosophy of Listening (New York: Routledge, 199<». 34. This is certainly not a theory new with me. Martin Buber could be seen as advocating something like this in I and Thou. 35. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 105. 36. Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 106.

Chapter Six

Listening to Language

Some African philosophers regard language as bdng the key to guaranteeing that African philosophy is truly African and truly philosophicaL Since the linguistic turn in the West, language has been a way of clarifying what is truly philosophical, by differentiating between real philosophical questions and those that occur simply because language works in a particular way. The history of Westem analytic philosophy has been that of either trying to clarify natural language so as to isolate real philosophical problems, or formalize natural language so as to provide a new linguistic fmmework that will not be prone to the ambiguities of natural language. In Western hermeneutics, on the other hand, language has been seen as the chief point of access to philosophy, rather than being the chief obstac]e to philosophy. African philosophy by and large has seen language as a conduit of, rather than a hindrance to philosophy. But there are special problems of language in the African context that twentieth century Western philosophy did not have to deal with. For one, language in the West tended to refer to writing, rather than speaking. When speaking was the subject of philosophical analysis, it was wlitten about, and it referred back to written reflections on the nature of speaking. African philosophy. on the other hand, must deal with both written and spoken "texts." While African philosophers have generally seen language as a conduit to philosophy. not all would agree. For example, Godwin Sogo]o, in discussing the question of whether philosophy has relevance in Africa, makes a careful distinction between the capabilities of a race or ethnic group on the one hand, and the particular experience of a person on the other. I He points out that one need not regard Africans as incapable of philosophy just because particular people have not had experience in philosophy. Indeed (and this is where lan155

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guage becomes relevant), even learning a language such as German in order to understand Kant may not give the person real access to Kant, because the language by itself does not afford experience (22).

just formal structure? Is it possible that one could push the lines of influence further back, so that geographical location or history correlates to world views? I use the weaker word "correlate" rather than the stronger "cause," but there is no suggestion given as to what else might go into producing a philosophical position in a culture. Language is the only productive factor given by Louwrens for a philosophy. There is another danger in this approach, which is that the line between a world view and a philosophy can become very blurred. Louwrens begins the article by talking about "African philosophy," but moves on to talk about world views, and the even vaguer phrase "peoples' outlook on Iife."3 Later, he talks about the "utilitarian" nature of the Bantu languages' approach to botanic nomenclature. This suggests a similarity to a theory of ethics and the social world developed in the nineteenth century by people like Bentham and Mill, but in fact, the term merely refers to the view that "the significance or value which is attached to a particular object is determined by the usefulness of that object within the community." This might be pragmatism (but not in the technical sense), but there is no principle of utility here. Furthermore, regarding the analysis of language to be indicative of philosophy requires that we hold both language and philosophy at arm's length, as if we ourselves do not have either, or as if we are able to rise above the implications of our own language and our own philosophy. The function of using a term like "world view" is to underscore that arm's length relationship-we hold a philosophy, while other people hold world views. We can argue for a philosophy, but we simply accept world views for what they are, a person's (or culture's) own approach to life. The point here is simply that the hope that language will, in some direct manner, lead to philosophy-in-place, will not be borne out. Language is, of course, a central aspect of philosophy, but the analysis of its structure alone will not yield a self-reflective philosophy. In the standard linguistic continuum, that does not necessarily imply a more biological theory of language (for instance, Chomsky or Pinker). In other words, I am arguing that language does not reduce either to culture or to biology. There are, though, some more sophisticated approaches to language which have sometimes been taken as being culturally reductive in this manner. Alexis Kagame's analysis of Kinyarwanda, and Barry Hallen and J. O. Sodipo's work on Yoruba have seemed to some critics like versions of what I have just critiqued. We will tum to these now.

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LANGUAGE AND WORLD VIEWS There are some thinkers who see a very strong relationship between language and thought in Africa. For example, L. J. Louwrens follows a version of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis when he argues that there exists a direct and demonstrable relationship between the grammatical structure of the Bantu languages, and the world view of the peoples who speak these languages. Linguistic evidence is provided which shows that three tenets of African philosophy, i.e. that of anthropocentrism, utilitarianism and supernaturalism are clearly attested in Bantu grammar in the domains of (i) the noun class system; (ii) botanic nomenclature, and (iii) certain passive constructions, respective1y.2

Louwrens moves easily between "world view" and "philosophy" as he tries to establish a direct connection to language. He does a close analysis of the structure and application of elements found in the Bantu family of languages to establish that certain philosophical features are built in to language itself. He explicitly places himself within a Whorfian tradition of linguistic analysis . by quoting Benjamin Lee Whorf at the beginning of the article. Given the criticism that has been leveled against the strong version of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, it is surprising to see someone come out with a stateme~t like this. Whatever the linguistic or anthropological merits of the hypotheSIS, the philosophical merits deserve to be questioned. Can we really move so easily from a world view to a philosophy? Hountondji's criticisms of ethnophilosophy seem most trenchantly directed at those who would attempt this. Not only do we end up with a "philosophy" that is anonymously held, uncritical; we also: simply re-affirm colonial divisions by establishing a different form of reason in . a non-Western context The intention of Sapir-Whorf linguistic relativism was . laudable- it was to break the anthropological hierarchy of cultures which placed the West at the top. However, particularizing the thought of cultures by their lan- '.' guage also meant that those cultures remained isolated, objects of investigation by the rational social scientific mind. They, after all, never sent anthropologists • to analyze the West using the tools of their own world views. . The danger in both the Sapir-Whorfhypothesis and Louwrens's application of it, is what it does not say. If world views are correlated to languages, what i are languages correlated to? History? Geography? Culture? Or is language

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LANGUAGE AS THE BASIS OF PHILOSOPHY: KAGAME Alexis Kagame is the most prominent (although not the sole) advocate of the idea that African philosophy is located in the close analysis of African lan-

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guages. His major statement can be found in La philosophie bantu-rwandaise de I'Etre. 4 Kagame's goal is to detennine the metaphysical commitments of those who speak Kinyarwanda. and by extension those who speak any Bantu language. In extending the analysis of local thought to much of Africa, he follows Placide Tempels' famous La philosophie bantoue, published in Dutch originally in the late 194Os. Tempels focused on social organization as a key to philosophical life, while Kagame focused on language; yet both assume that there is something collectively and unconsciously held that makes philosophy possible. Kagame has always held a place in the world of African philosophy as a central, if ultimately futile figure. He is central in part because of later constructions of the history of the field. Odera Oruka regarded him as an ethnophilosopher (and included him in that category in his influential "Trends"), who along with Tempels and others came prior to the crucial distinctions drawn by Hountondji in the 1970s and t 980s which relegated the study of language to some discipline other than philosophy_ Masolo includes him in his African Philosophy in Search of Identity as a stage of African philosophy, one to be taken seriously as an ultimately flawed attempt to locate African philosophy in a feature of the African life-world. And perhaps he is ultimately unsuccessful. As I argued earlier, language in itself does not necessarily include a philosophy, except trivially in the sense that language always makes choices, or imposes choices on t~e user~., But in this sense, all symbolic communication would be philosophical. It IS ' perhaps better to see language as a necessary but not sufficient component of philosophy. But this raises the more important question, one which African philosophers have not picked up from Kagame, which concerns the nature of language itself. The critique of "linguistic analysis as ethn?philoso~h( • assumes that the structure of language itself does not contam non-tnvlal philosophical insight to a culture. The important issue is what is done. wi~h the language, who spoke it, was it used for critique. Philosophy, then, hes In what language makes possible, not what language is. , This, though, may simply treat language as a tool for a specific purpose. In suggesting that language in itself is not necessarily philosophical, we may be suggesting that there is a split between subjectivity and language, that language is a necessary step, but only a step, on the way to real philosophical reflection. After all, those making the critique against Kagame are also using language, and one could certainly expect that a similar critique could be made in a Bantu language, even Kinyanvanda. What is it that makes that critique philosophical, and not other utterances in Kinyarwanda? Presumably it is what the speaker is speaking about which determines the philosophical nature of the utterance. But that makes language into a tool. Perhaps it is a

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tool that is better or worse for various things (Wiredu, after all, argues that you can tell if something is an African concept by whether you can express it in an African language), but it is still a tool. Kagame on one level is an excellent example of an attempt to ground African philosophy in some metaphysical feature of African existence. However this in itself should not blind us to the potentially interesting aspects of hi~ argument. His close analysis of language assumes that language itself is of philosophical interest, not in the sense of Western "philosophy of language," which is the reflection on language as an object, but rather in the sense that the parameters of expression that we experience when speaking are related in an important way to who we are, and to our reflection on ourselves. Language, then, is not a tool, but a way of being. As a comparison, we might think about the way that Heidegger analyzes language, not to find the cause or location of a philosophy, in the sense of beliefs about the world, but to find and explicate the location of Being. Whether one agrees or not with Heidegger's conclusions, or even with his etymologies, it is clear that he is not engaging either in a disguised Sapir-Whorf project, or in an analytic reduction of thought to language. There must, therefore, be room for the analysis of language that allows for the explication of existence. Kagame's Aristotelian metaphysics predisposes him toward an explication of Kinyarwanda that covers over the connection between language and self, but nevertheless they are there. He cannot guarantee that Bantu languages yield Bantu philosophy, as seems to be his intent; on the other hand, he opens the door to an inquiry into the relationship between language and thought. Perhaps the most serious criticism of Kagame is voiced by Sophie Oluwole. She points out that "the Africanness of a philosophy must therefore transcend those features that define the specificity of various theories of metaphysics or epistemology."5 In other words, in his analysis of Kinyarwanda Kagame specifies a particular ontology as truly African, and in doing so undermines the creative potential of his insight into the connection between language and African philosophy. Language can no longer create, for Kagame, but must simply report. Given that Kagame's notion of the nature of language is clearly flawed, we might still pursue the question of what philosophy in an African language might be like. After all, saying that language is not simply the repository of concepts, does not mean that languages are interchangeable, and we might as well use a cornmon one like English rather than some lesser known language like Kinyarwanda. What difference does language make? We need to refine the question even more. Are we asking about the difference that language makes, or are we asking about what difference a different language makes? Kagame assumed that language was a repository, and min-

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ing its depths would provide unique concepts. But the significance may lie not in depth. but breadth. It may be that philosophy in an African language is a worthwhile thing to pursue precisely because it is not English, French or German. It exists at a distance. and that distance itself forces new ways of understanding something. It is possible, though, that the issue of language in itself was not the central concern for Kagame. Maniragaba BaIibutsa has argued that there is a phenomenological component to Kagame's work, or more specifically, that there is a rapprochement between Husserl and Kagame. 6 Balibutsa suggests that Kagame's use of "ntu" is close to a phenomenological (rather than Kantian) version of an a priori, and that this identification makes possible an advancement in Bantu-Rwandan philosophy:

that is, a place constructed from questions that range over a wide geographical and cultural range rather than a more narrow range, translation between languages seems to be unavoidable. There are those such as Ngugi wa Thiong'o, to be sure, who have taken a stand on the use of African language as a preferred mode of expression (his preference is Kiswahili), but while this does highlight the importance of the link between language and thought. and reinforces the fact that African languages are capable of operating at a highly abstract and complex level, several things seem to work against using this as a general principle of operation. For one, there are many languages within Africa itself. Within any country (save, perhaps, smaller or more culturally integrated countries such as Rwanda and Burundi), there are several major languages competing for official status. It is the reason why colonial languages continue to have a hold, and accounts for the success of regional languages such as Kiswahili. For the most part, the West did not have to deal with similar conditions. Of course, philosophy was conducted in Greek, then Latin, then French, German, and English, along with other languages such as Danish, Polish, Russian, and sO forth. But Western philosophy tended not to pay a great deal of attention to the problem of translation as a philosophical issue. Philosophy was not based on translatability, or the lack thereof. Either people chose a lingua franca at a particular time (such as Latin, or in the Enlightenment, French), or philosophical conversations were constrained by the linguistic capacities of those involved in the enterprise, as well as the vagaries of what actually got translated. Translatability of concepts did not become a philosophical issue. Language does, of course, take centre stage in the twentieth century as a philosophically important factor, and it is at this time that thinkers such as Heidegger could start to make claims about the priority of Greek (followed closely by German) as philosophical languages. Other languages (and, although he does not say it. African languages would be an extreme example of this) were seen as just not as good at communicating abstraction, making fine moral distinctions, or communicating human experience. They were essentially utilitarian languages, useful for day to day activity or rituaL but not reflective thought. If Kagame did anything, it was to demonstrate that the attitude that African languages are inferior for philosophical activity is just not true. And, if the investigation into the place of proverbs in philosophical discourse did anything, it enabled us to recognize that artifacts of cultural and linguistic history were also potentially philosophically interesting, and not simply as mute markers that point to structures of society available only to the anthropologist. They ure at least potentially living aspects of philosophical thought. But the historicuI fact that Africa has always had to deal with translation of languages raises

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c'est d'une fa~on bien consciente et dcliberec et apres de longues annees de reflexion aussi bien dans Ie sysreme philosophique greeo-occidental que sur la pensee bantu-rwandaise, que je propose ce rapprochement entre la jeune philosophie bantu-rwandaise et la phenomenologie husserlienne. Le concept de I' a priori etant au centre de la philosophie husserliennc de meme que Ie nlu est au centre du systeme conceptuel bantu-J\vandais, Ie rapproachement entre Ie IItU et I' a priori ou eidos universel tel que defini par Husser! me semble offrir la possibilite de fairc decoller la pensee philosophique bantu-rwandaise de type scientifique.7

Balibutsa believes that identifying ntu with Husserl's eidos will alloW African philosophy to express its true scientific nature, and leave behind the· "mud-pit" of Tempels' philosophy and of negritude. Whether Balibutsa is actually correct about the details of a connection between ntu and Hussert's eidos, he makes a more generally important point. Kagame does not have to be taken as an extension of Tempels and Mbiti, but rather can be seen as being closer to the later work by Hallen and Sodipo. It is this interpretive possibility which could permit African philosophy to . investigate forms of life, rather than engaging in the metaphysical SapirWhorf-style project.

TRANSLATION: HALLEN AND SODIPO So, the idea that language and ontology are closely tied together (Louwrens), or that philosophy lies in what a specific language makes possible (Kagame), seems too limiting. A third aspect of language that sometimes is used to ground African philosophy begins with the necessary feature of doing philosophy at all in an African context-since "Africa" is a high topemic level,

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other interesting philosophical issues, addressed most significantly by Barry Hallen and J. O. Sodipo.s Hallen and Sodipo's work has sometimes been dismissed on the grounds that it is ethnophilosophy. But there is an important difference between what they are doing and what Kagame was doing (and, even more, a difference to what Tempels was doing). Both projects attempt to locate philosophy within language, but Kagame's task was to work out a collectively held, anonymous, and uncritical world-view that was made possible (necessitated?) by language, while Hallen and Sodipo's task is to provide a translation manual between Yoruba and (in this case) English. Hallen and Sadipo's mission, then, is much more metaphysically modest. While Kagame's work was written in French (and not Kinyarwanda, the language he was analyzing), this fact was not particularly relevant to the philosophical enterprise. For Hallen and Sodipo, it is. Philosophy is made explicit in the explanation, or in this case, in the translation. It is important to recognize that the centrality of translation to Hallen and Sadipo's project does not mean that this is either inter-cultural philosophy or ethnography. There is no comparativist agenda at work here. Translation is rather a positive philosophical method designed to sharpen philosophical categories within Yoruba, as well as correct errors in the English translation of specific terms. And as for ethnography, Hallen and Sodipo wanted to avoid giving an account of a "world view" in the manner that Louwrens did earlier with his Whorfian-inspired project. The point was not to compare systems of thought, nor was it to sketch out some timeless, anonymously held system of thought within Africa itself. So what was the intention of the project, and how do Hallen and Sodipo link language and philosophy? The intellectual provenance clearly passes through J. L. Austin and W. V. O. Quine, as well as through phenomenology. From Quine, Hallen and Sodipo take the "indeterminacy of translation" thesis, which states that there is no guarantee (that is, no way of knowing) in translation that an ontology has been faithfully or accurately characterized. Quine is not interested in making practical applications of this thesis for linguists or anthropologists, and Hallen and Sodipo recognize this. They use Quine's thesis to set limits on what they can expect in their tr~nslation. Who and what are they translating? The commonly used words in Yoruba, as used by the "onis e gun," or Yoruba herbalist sages (formerly incorrectly known as "witch doctors"). Hallen, Sadipo, and their research assistants interviewed a number of these sages over the course of many years, and were able to ask and re-ask questions about the meaning and use of words. The emphasis was not on specialized or secret knowledge, but on commonly used language. The onis e gun were generally regarded as knowledgeable and articulate about cultural matters by those in the villages.

Recall the distinction that was made at the beginning of this book between spatial and platial philosophy. If one imagines that the central question Hallen and Sodipo are asking is the spatial question, that is, the question which defines and defends African philosophical territory, then it seems clear that their attempt is only partially successful. It has been criticized as ethnophilosophical, in that the identities of the sages are never a central issue, and these sages seem to be reflecting a generalized world-view rather than a critical theory. But the problem is that they are not asking the spatial question. Hallen and Sadipo are not interested in answering that question, but rather in investigating what it means to think in a place. It is worth noting that Hallen does not put the project in these terms. Indeed, at times he argues as if he is engaged in the spatial project:

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the orthodox Western paradigm of what a cognitive system should be in order to be considered "rational" so dominates that battletield of today that it is difficult to secure even a modest space for any non-Western alternative .... If African philosophers do not challenge the universality of this paradigm when they pursue an interest in things epistemological with reference to African systems of thought, they will find themselves in a compromising situation. 9

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What is notable is how little of Hallen and Sodipo's work actually engages in spatial philosophy as described here. While it is acknowledged, the vast majority of the work does not proceed to carve out that space, but rather assume that the space of African philosophy already exists, and explores it. Furthermore, it does not proceed from already established categories of Westem philosophy and attempt to force African thought into that mould. Their method is deliberately dialogical. We might raise questions about just how dialogical it can be under the circumstances (and such questions will be raised momentarily), but the basic impetus of the program starts from a commitment to philosophy-in-place. Hallen and Sodipo use a limitation of translation, pointed out by Quine, as a positive tool. This move is unexpected but productive. The limitation, that we can never know whether a translation has truly captured an ontology, should not be confused with the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. They are not the same. Sapir-Whorf assumes that there is a direct tie between language and ontology such that a philosophy can be inferred from a language. Quine, on the other hand, seems to be giving a negative version of that thesis, that in fact we cannot move across linguistic borders to understand what those ontologies are. I believe, though, that Quine's indeterminacy thesis is actually a positive step in phenomenological investigation, rather than a negative limit on knowledge. Notice in Hallen and Sodipo's case, that early on in the process

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they recognize the discontinuity between certain Yoruba words and their English "equivalents."'o If one superficially held to Quine's thesis that might be the end of it, as there would be no guarantee that further work would really deliver a better translation. Of course, that is not what happened. Hallen and Sodipo use the observation of a disconnection as the opportunity to ask new questions about the meanings ofYoruba terms. In other words, Quine's thesis becomes a philosophical method rather than a philosophical claim. Difference creates the opportunity for questioning. If one begins from the position of misunderstanding (at least, recognizing that misunderstanding has taken place). one begins from a place. It is not the search for a universal idea of truth. knowledge, or so forth, but it is the recognition that only through the recognition that knowledge comes from places that any larger understanding of these philosophical terms is possible. Again, it seems as if the project proceeds not with the assumption of misunderstanding, but with the assumption of a lack of understanding. Hallen reports on his early technique for working with the onfs.e.gun:

However, there are other issues that now arise in the research project. For one, it is worth asking to what extent the onfs e gun can question the researchers. Is it possible for them to point out mis-asked questions, or to question the assumptions of the questioners? I mean this in a different way than simply questioning the motives of the researchers. I mean the ability to question the assumptions of the research project itself. What would an onfs e gun analysis of Western philosophical method and knowledge look like? Could it raise questions about, for instance, the extent to which natural language philosophy can get at the lived meaning of people? Could it use a similar philosophical method of translation to access philosophical content in English from anonymous Western informants? What about meaning that does not easily come in the form of natural language? A second question would involve the nature of the dialogue that forms the basis for this research. Hallen and Sodipo do not spend much time discussing the nature of the dialogue-they seem to regard it as a methodological issue rather than a philosophical one. But this question follows on the previous one, and has to do with the relative places of the dialogue partners. After canvassing a number of (ultimately unsuccessful) strategies for not imposing Western thought on African thought while researching, Hallen says this about dialogue:

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I then introduced the theme that I was unhappy with the fact that most of the "wisdom" being taught in my subject was of Western origin, I therefore hoped to introduce some Nigerian, Yoruba "wisdom" into the department's teaching program. But I was a foreigner, an alien, largely ignorant of Nigerian culture. Would they help me something about it from their infonned viewpoints so that it too could then be taught as philosophy in the university,!11

it is dialogue based upon language fluency that will best enable researchers see where attitudes and beliefs overlap and where they diverge. 12

Interestingly, it is presented as if a world-view is a philosophy. If the project actually ended up being like this, the charges of ethnophilosophy would be true. But in fact, the dominant interpretive mode is one of misunderstanding, not lack of understanding. That is the central problem to be addressed. And it cannot be addressed simply by filling a void, but by figuring out where the misunderstanding comes from, and changing it. It is an interpretive task. If it is recognized that Hallen and Sodipo are engaged in philosophy-inplace, and not in some version of ethnophilosophy, then several questions are cleared up. and others present themselves. The issue of the anonymity of . the sources is no longer relevant, because they are not providing a window on some stable, commonly held uncritical world view, The interlocutors are rather the ones most able to articulate the nuances of certain ideas in their context. The fact that there are several of them is actually beneficial. in that there can be differences of opinion between them that can raise new issues. Anonymity ensures that we do not attach concepts solely to the one expressing them, while at the same time allowing that the focus remains on translation as the engine of philosophical invention, I

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We can grant, for the moment, that dialogue is a useful thing. But is the goal of that dialogue to see where attitudes and beliefs overlap? What if it is to find ways of asking better questions? An attitude or a belief may only be a component of a synthesized understanding of a world. One might, for instance, believe that freedom is a good thing, but in fact that belief tells us little about one's understanding of the world. Asking better questions, though, has the chance to get at that synthetic sense. In fact, I believe that Hallen and Sodipo could respond to these issues. I believe this because of the overall structure of the program, which fundamentally starts from questioning and misunderstanding. rather than from the certainty of method and the lack of understanding that characterizes so many other studies. The form of dialogue that happened with the onfs e gun uncovered not only beliefs about the world through the uses of words in natural language, but also served to acquaint Hallen and the other researchers with that synthetic understanding of the place in which those beliefs made sense. As such, Hallen and Sodipo were able to work out from that understanding, not because they had a prior set of epistemological categories into which they

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put the Yoruba words, but because they understood why these words mattered within the context, and were able to connect that significance with the significance they were familiar with in their respective cultures. The project could easily absorb self-reflective questions, and as such, it has the potential to create new ideas because it is open to them.

self-critical. Some, such as Claude Sumner, distinguish between philosophy in the strict sense and philosophy in the wider or sapiential sense. Sumner takes Hountondji's critique of ethnophilosophy to heart, and in his analysis of Oromo proverbs he quite deliberately places them outside of the realm of philosophical discourse,14 while acknowledging that anything may be used by philosophers as the starting-point of philosophy. In other words, proverbs are part of the broad category of "sapientialliterature," but due to the relative lack of critique within proverbs, as well as their anonymous nature, they are not part of the category of "strict philosophy." Finally, there are those who make an argument for the philosophical use of proverbs. Three of the most prominent figures in this camp are K wame Gyekye (primarily in his An Essay on African Philosophical Thought 15 ), Gerald Wanjohi (in his The Wisdom and Philosophy of the Gikuyu Proverbs: The Kihooto World-View I6 ), and Raphael Okechukwu Madu (African Symbols, Proverbs and Myths: The Hermeneutics of Destiny17). I wi11 begin by dealing with Gyekye and Wanjohi. and move on to deal with Madu separately. Gyekye's work is the earlier of the two, having originally been published in 1987, with the parts about proverbs published well before thaLlS Wanjohi's work is a more ambitious exploration of the use of proverbs as the basis of philosophy. Both writers (along with, for that matter, several writers of shorter articles) give a similar argument for the use of proverbs in philosophy. In this section I will sketch out this argument, drawing on all sources to present as strong an argument as possible. While the goal of the two major writers is similar, it is not identical, and therefore I will make clear the source of the parts of the argument. One important difference, for example, is that Gyekye's aim is to establish proverbs as a source of African philosophy, while Wanjohi's aim seems to be to establish proverbs as the best (although not perfect) source of African philosophy, as evidenced by the fact that he considers other contenders for the "source" of African philosophy and systematically dismisses them (Wanjohi 87ft). This makes Wanjohi's argument more ambitious, and more will be required of it when it is assessed. The impetus to look to proverbs, as mentioned earlier, comes as a positive need to ground "true" African philosophy in indigenous soil, and as a negative need to resist writers who argue that philosophy must be based on written texts, must be critical, and must not be anonymous. Proverbs are rooted in the tradition of a people, and if they can be shown to ground philosophy then that philosophy would also necessarily be of that culture. Of course, this assumes that the proverbs really did come from the culture in question, and were not borrowed from another culture (something very difficult to demonstrate); nevertheless, the chief result would be to distance African thought from Western thought, as it is unlikely that if the proverbs were borrowed that very

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PROVERBS AS THE BASIS FOR AFRICAN PHILOSOPHY: GYEKYE, WANJOHI, MAOU So, language is more creative, and more deeply philosophical, when difference gives rise to philosophical questions and can produce greater reflection on concepts. But some who use language are more interested in artifacts or formulations of language, rather than the structure of language. For some, the key to finding an aspect of culture that is truly African and truly philosophical does not lie in the details or structure of language, but in higher level artifacts of language such as tales, riddles, songs, proverbs, and so forth. I wish to examine one of these artifacts which has received attention from several philosophers-proverbs. Can proverbs be a source of African philosophy? Do African proverbs guarantee that any philosophy that emerges is African philosophy? In what way could a cultural and linguistic artifact such as a proverb be of interest to philosophy? It should be said that it is not my intention to deal with the paremiological research as it exists, mainly because it is only marginally interested in the •. question of the extent to which proverbs could be the basis of philosophy.. This inquiry is philosophical, not paremiological, and the question really is, what is philosophy in Africa, and what place do linguistic and cultural artifacts like proverbs have in it? Having said that, it is also important to recognize the enormous work done by those who research proverbs. Understanding the nature of the proverb will be relevant to deciding its place in African philosophy. i

The Argument for Proverbs as the Basis for African Philosophy Many African philosophers acknowledge the possibility of proverbs as pro- i viding a basis for African philosophy, but there are significant differences as to how they approach the topic. Some simply assume that proverbs are an adequate basis, and analyze the proverbs themselves to outline their tradi· tional meaning or classify them according to philosophical category.13 Some•. such as Hountondji, are skeptical about their use as philosophy, arguing that philosophy must be founded on practices such as science which are already

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many of them would have been borrowed from the West (Gyekye 21). Therefore, so the argument goes, proverbs are linguistic artifacts with the marks of indigenous culture, and can largely be relied upon to reflect the culture. There is another connection that must be made clear. Just as it is necessary to establish that proverbs are reflections of a culture (on the face of it, not too ' difficult), it is also necessary to show that proverbs really do have philosophical content. This is somewhat more difficult, if only because it requires that we define philosophy, itself no easy task. Within African philosophy, there is difference of opinion over whether the "world-views" of a people (or even of an individual) count as philosophy or whether they must more closely resemble Western styles of thought, in having for example arguments, close distinctions, and so forth. Nevertheless, these problems are not enough to undermine the possibility that proverbs bear some relationship to philosophy. Both Gyekye and Wanjohi understand the argument to this point; indeed, their contention that African proverbs are an important (perhaps the best) source of African philosophy starts from these considerations. Let us consider their arguments. Gyekye argues that proverbs are seen as the result of critical reflection, rather than the carrying out of critical reflection (17). They are therefore artifacts that point to philosophy, or give evidence of it. They also are situational, which means that they are applicable to different contexts, and may be true or not depending on the context in which the proverb is used (17-18). Gyekye takes this to mean that proverbs arise out of the experience of the people, rather than (presumably) out of some logical deduction from first principles. He regards this as evidence of the "empirical" (as opposed to "rationalist") nature of African philosophy.19 Those arguing for the philosophical nature of proverbs often refer to the Greek penchant for pithy sayings. These can be found in many pre-Socratic thinkers, such as Heraclitus, Parmenides, Zeno, as well as in Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. Indeed, Aristotle takes up the question of the usefulness of proverbs in philosophy. The implication is that there is precedent in Western philosophy to use proverbs as part of philosophy, so it should not be a surprise if Africans do it as well. Gyekye compares African proverbs to the sayings I' of Socrates, as well as the sayings of Confucius (18-19). The difference between them is that we do not normally know the one who coined African proverbs; nevertheless, we know someone must have done so. Besides dealing with a variety of social and cultural issues, Gyekye argues that African proverbs also deal with philosophical issues. He gives many examples as evidence of the social character of Akan ethics, of the notions of predestination and fatalism in Akan life, and of a principle of non-contradiction. He recognizes that uniqueness to Africa is not necessary to regard '

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proverbs as having philosophical weight (21), but simply that the proverbs be African in origin, and be classifiable as philosophy. He also argues that there is no need to identify a sole author of the proverbs for them to have philosophical weight (as Hountondji, for instance, claims), citing the precedent of some aphorisms in pre-Socratic philosophy, some work of Aristotle, and various medieval work whose authorship is in question (21-22). Positively, he argues that there was a period of proverbs or aphorisms in Indian thought, and that this differs from African thought only in that there was a period of writing in Indian thought that provided interpretive frameworks and attribution. And, Greek thought also had a period of aphorisms, many of which were elliptical, cryptic, or ambiguous. Therefore, it should be no surprise that African thought as well should find philosophical significance in proverbs (22-23). Wanjohi's argument is similar to Gyekye's in many ways. While he devotes the whole book to the study of Gikuyu proverbs, his actual defense of their use as philosophy is considerably more limited. Furthermore, some of his argument consists of considering other candidates for African philosophy, and systematically showing their limitations. Even before this, however, he considers proverbs as figures of speech. In what seems like a primer on non-direct communication, Wanjohi places proverbs beyond both literal language (which he terms the "first degree of symbolization") and figurative language (the "second degree of symbolization"), encompassing both lower figures of speech such as metaphor, metonymy, etc., as well as "higher" figures of speech, which he regards as extended metaphors (myth, allegory, and parable) (70). As the "third degree of symbolization," proverbs are "polysymbolic": The meaning of the proverb is that anything or anybody that is exposed to other things or people will not fail to display a mark or effect of that exposure or interaction. That is, each of these concepts can symbolize or be interpreted in many ways (70-7]).

Once this has been established, Wanjohi moves on to consider the place of proverbs as philosophy in the other candidates for African philosophy. Interestingly, he needs to recover ethnophilosophy from the criticisms of some, including Paulin Hountondji, because for Wanjohi, to claim that proverbs are philosophical is to claim that ethnophilosophy is in fact philosophy and not just cultural knowledge. Proverbs, like ethnophilosophy, are public (i.e., not the product of one person, but the property of a community); they are generally orally transmitted; they are generally descriptive rather than critical. Wanjohi argues that proverbs in fact are "second-order" discourse, in that they exhibit reflective and critical thought (79). He argues this by presenting

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examples. He also argues that proverbs are philosophical in that they make "more or less direct references to both basic and applied philosophy" (81). Again he demonstrates his point by making reference to proverbs. He shows that a proverb can be syllogized, for example (81-82), and he classifies proverbs into metaphysical, epistemological, and ethical categories (82-87). Wanjohi's defense of proverbs as being philosophy is somewhat indirect. He shows what he believes to be the limitations of other approaches to African philosophy, and then contents himself with fending off objections to his position. Interestingly, he admits the limitations of his own position as well, recognizing that proverbs sometimes "fail to make the point intended" (91). Also, "the usage of some proverbs does not seem to follow the meaning of the proverb strictly" (91). Wanjohi's account is more ambitious than Gyekye's, in that he attempts to provide a rational for the philosophical character of proverbs based on their internal structure, rather than simply , showing that proverbs or proverb-analogues have been used in other world philosophies. It should be noted in passing that the arguments Gyekye and Wanjohi present in favor of proverbs as philosophy are largely indirect (arguing that they should be accepted because they are accepted elsewhere in the world), negative (arguing that proverbs are better than other candidates for African philosophy), replies to objections (mostly objections against ethnophilosophy, which would also apply to the use of proverbs), and arguments by example (listing proverbs and showing how, if properly understood, they can be seen to be philosophical). In other words, there are relatively few positive arguments given. Wanjohi does try to schematize language use, placing proverbs ' in the most exalted "third degree of symbolization," but in fact his rationale for this is extremely brief and raises more questions than it answers. Those questions will be the subject of the next section.

The Limitations of Proverbs as a Basis for African Philosophy There are two ways that proverbs might be relevant to philosophy. The first is as a guarantee that there really is philosophy in traditional Africa. The second is as the site for philosophical thought, a focal point for new philosophical listening and speaking. These two are not simply extensions of each other, and indeed the more one is concerned about one, the less one is able to see the other. Gyekye and Wanjohi are concerned with the first project, and to that extent cannot see the second. In this section, I want to make clear why this is so. From there, I would like to explore the extent to which Madu's hermeneutical approach to proverbs might address the limitations of Gyekye .• and Wanjohi.

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As in most attempts to anchor African philosophy, the putative metaphysical anchor point (the proverb, here) is taken as a cultural given, and not really interrogated. Gyekye and Wanjohi both take the identity and nature of the proverb as more or less obvious and neither sees the need to draw on paremiological research. This is especially ironic in Wanjohi's case, in that he has published in some of these paremiology journals. Why should this be relevant? It is relevant because taking proverbs as a cultural given does not tell us anything about what kind of philosophy proverbs might uncover for us. Proverbs are specific forms of language, but many kinds of philosophy could conceivably be drawn from them. One might try to build a philosophy on their explicit content-but what exactly is that content? One might focus on the uses that proverbs have in a society-but what are those uses? Can we generalize on either of these? Proverbs are notoriously contextual (as I will discuss below), in that their epistemological value is linked to their context, and they are notoriously situational, in that they bear their meaning not internally but pragmatically. What kind of a philosophy would proverbs make possible? Proverbs are, after all, a specific kind of communication with a particular character. If we suppose they voice, in large part, a philosophy, what must it look like? To understand this, we must first understand proverbs, and then, just as important, we must also understand something about philosophy. First, a few observations about proverbs: 1. Proverbs are situational. They do not express universal truths, but rather

give what Wolfgang Mieder calls "apparent truth."20 This means two things: first, that their truth must take into account the context, and second, they may not be true at all no matter what context they are in. 2. Proverbs often contradict each other. This is not the contradiction that arises from reasoned disagreement (like the differences between philosopher's positions), but usually a contradiction of application. "Too many cooks spoil the stew" and "Many hands make light work" are both true, in different circumstances, although superficially they seem to express opposing sentiments. The problem is to know in advance which circumstances are relevant. 3. The previous point implies another issue: on their own, proverbs often appear to be prescriptive when they are actually descriptive. In other words, a proverb that seems to give advice for action may only be relevant to certain circumstances, and knowing whether to apply a proverb requires something more than the proverb itself can offer. It requires something like wisdom or practical reason that is not imbedded in the proverb, but is the result of knowing what kind of proverb is appropriate on a specific occasion.

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4. Proverbs are traditional, in the sense they are accepted or received wisdom. This in itself does not prevent proverbs from being philosophical, but it does mean that the onus is on those advocating that proverbs are philosophical to show that there is some critical or reflective aspect. This means, among other things, that one will need to show what the proverb is critical of or reflective about. This is not accomplished by simply showing that the proverb deviates from common wisdom; as noted in the earlier chapter on wisdom, critique must mean more than deviation. 5. The originator of a proverb is almost never known. Again, in itself this is not a problem, but it does mean that the onus will again be on the advocates of proverbs as philosophy to show how the proverb differs from simple folk wisdom. 6. Proverbs are formulated on the basis of human experience, and are not normally formulated with philosophical categories in mind. That is not to say that philosophy does not come from human experience, but that something more is needed than just experience for something to qualify as philosophy. That "more" is not just the ability to be classified into a (quasi-) philosophical category, as any form of human expression in any language could potentially be so classified. 7. Proverbs have applications, users, and audiences. They cannot be considered in abstraction. To use one example, proverbs were used during the Nazi era to express all forms of stereotypes. Indeed, many proverbs reinforce stereotypes. The advocates of using proverbs as African philosophy tend to avoid discussing proverbs that might not reflect well on Africa in general or (more likely) an African group in particular. The fact that proverbs and their users have agendas means that choices are always being made, and to ignore them in favor of a benign "window on the culture" sort of view misses the interpretive place that proverbs have in a culture, and in scholarship. 8. The interpretation and explication of the proverb is as important as the proverb itself. The proverb is compressed, and that compression adds ambiguity. On top of that, metaphor is often involved. The proverb by itself cannot form the basis of philosophy, for the act of interpretation is inseparable from it. 9. Given the notorious difficulty in defining proverbs, yet the fact of their ubiquity and enduring appeal, one might argue that proverbs are not so much analyzed as recognized. That is true at several levels. The form is recognized, to the extent that an unfamiliar proverb might be recognized as a proverb. However, the proverbs of one's own culture are recognized in another way, as expressing something "true" about the culture, even if that truth is partial or problematic. One might, for instance, recognize a

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stereotyping proverb about women as "true" in the sense that it reflects the beliefs of a culture accurately, but not true in the sense that it empirically is the case. This suggests that there is a pre-reflective understanding, an intersubjectivity about proverbs that transcends their semiological character in actual use. And, a person trying to argue that proverbs form the basis of African philosophy is concerned about use, not structure. If this is true, though, then the use has to be extended far beyond an analysis of the denotative meaning of a proverb to the "average" member of the culture. 10. The question of the use of proverbs bears more reflection. English speakers are likely used to hearing proverbs colloquially and informally, except in the case of advertising. ]n an African context, on the other hand, proverbs may have an entirely different use. They may be used in judicial situations, in governance, in religious contexts, and so forth. Understanding the proverb in these settings requires more than showing the denotation, or even what the proverb would imply to a member of the culture. ]t would require showing where the proverb is appropriate. 11. Proverbs are not necessarily culturally coded or indexed. If a person was presented with a list of a hundred proverbs and told that ten of them were African, it is unlikely that that person would be able to identify the African proverbs solely through their content (apart from references to specifically African objects, animals, or groups), When proverbs are analyzed, they usually come with the extrinsic label of "African." This is certainly true for both Gyekye and Wanjohi- we are told that the proverbs being considered are examples from their own respective ethnic backgrounds. But this means that proverbs do not necessarily give a clear window to a culture without some extraneous context to interpret them. It is important to recognize that none of this implies that proverbs cannot be relevant to philosophy. The argument over whether proverbs can be used as the basis of philosophy begs the question, since either an affirmative or a negative answer assumes that proverbs are text·analogues, they are universally accessible the way philosophical texts usually are, and perhaps most importantly, that philosophy is based on texts. All this needs to be questioned. Proverbs are specific language forms, with specific strengths. They are particularly good at expressing commonly held, situational "truths," and can be pressed into service for a variety of ends. What do they not give us? l. Proverbs rarely provide reasons, but rather imply reasons. To the extent that a proverb provides a reason for an injunction, it is almost always a fonn of consequentialism. This in itself does not mean that consequentiaIism is necessarily a '~philosophical theory" within Africa; it is more

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likely that it fits the form of the proverb particularly well. Wanjohi, particularly, in categorhdng proverbs into Western philosophical categories, is forced to add a great deal of discussion to make the meaning of the proverb clear. Even with the discussion, there is usually little evidence of the place the proverb has in a larger discussion. Wanjohi is fond of comparing African proverbs to Western philosophical statements. What he does not say is that, the proverbs or statements as used in the West are not really philosophy either, but simply the belief of someone about something. 2. Judging from the analysis of both Gyekye and Wanjohi, it seems that proverbs give us mediocre philosophy at best. Both argue that the intent of proverb research is to demonstrate that there was philosophy in traditional Africa, but past that, neither makes much philosophical use of them. There is no real examination of proverbs, but simply classification. And, Wanjohi and Gyekye both compare the use of proverbs in early Western philosophy, and also in Indian philosophy, to the use in African philosophy. They argue that, since proverbs (or statements that look like proverbs) are used in these other areas, and they turned out to have sustained philosophical traditions, we should not disallow Africans from the same thing. The problem here is that they are implicitly selling Africa short. What they in effect are saying is that Africa has philosophy, only it is rudimentary and not yet very profound. Given a chance, it might be, but it is not yet. This situation comes to pass only because of the need to establish the existence of African philosophy at any cost, without actually asking about what is said or what is held. 3. Despite Wanjohi's contention, proverbs do not in fact yield their own philosophical classification. Wanjohi is at pains to show how Gikuyu proverbs fit into the Western categories of philosophy, which he identifies as metaphysics, epistemology, and ethics. This is perhaps where his argument meets its most serious problems. a. It is not clear that the categorizations of philosophy that Wanjohi begins with are an that useful. Classifying statements into one of the categories of philosophy does not tell us whether the statement itself is philosophical. For example, someone might make the statement "I'll believe it when I see it." Is the person making a philosophical claim? That statement could be part of a philosophical theory, perhaps expressing some version of empiricism, but it is more likely the person is just responding to another claim with a rote response, using a cliche. To call this statement philosophical is to call all language philosophical, because anything could be imagined as part of a philosophical theory or view, and almost anything could be imagined as not being

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part of a philosophical theory. It is doubtful that anyone claiming that proverbs could be the basis of philosophy would want to extend the claim to the logical conclusion, which would be to make anything a person says as potentially philosophical. b. The specific categories Wanjohi works from make clear that he is using Western philosophy as the definition of the nature of philosophy itself. He argues that philosophy is universal, and therefore he is just using these universal categories to classify African proverbs. There are some problems with this, however. The categories cited refer to the kinds of issues one might ask philosophical questions about. Metaphysics, for instance, refers to questions about the nature of reality. To this extent, African proverbs might have metaphysical content, but so might any artifact of language. In other words, classifying the proverbs using this rubric might be trivially true, but it does not tell us anything about philosophy itself, nor does it necessarily give us access to anyone's philosophical reflection. He goes further to identify (in what might be considered a category mistake) three and only three ethical "approaches": deontology, teleology, and metaethics. Many proverbs fit into some sort of ethical category, he argues, and this is more evidence of the philosophical nature of African proverbs. But again, it is trivially true that proverbs make statements on how we should live. Many examples could be given of colloquial or folk sayings from around the world that say something about how a person should live-they are not necessarily philosophical. 4. Proverbs do not necessarily give us an understanding of the world-view of a people, without also invoking interpretation of those who already understand the culture. It is notable that both Gyekye and Wanjohi use the proverbs of their own ethnic groups as the basis for philosophy. They do not approach the issue the way much paremiological research takes place, along structuralist or semiotic lines, or using ethnographic techniques. This is auto-ethnography. They both try to draw the reader into the meaning the proverbs have for the fully aware participant in the society. They both give what might be called, following Ricoeur, a hermeneutics of trust, in which it is assumed that a text is there to reveal something to us, and it is our task to understand it. But what is the text, for both these thinkers? Not the proverb itself-that is seen as a window. The culture is the real text. Yet, in both cases, explanations of proverbs come with a great deal of contextualizing discussion. We can only "get it right" (whether "it" is the proverb or the culture) if we understand the entire context, and even then, I would guess, an outsider would not really get it right in any profound sense.

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In other words, the proverbs, and for that matter the culture, are nothing without making a context clear that would be more or less transparent to a full participant. But is no discussion needed for the full participant? This is clearly not the case-the proverbs always arise in a context, for a purpose, and often are the focus of discussion, especially given that there may be contradictory proverbs for any given situation. 5. Proverbs do not give us a traditional philosophical universal. Wanjohi wants to claim a kind of universality for proverbs through his claim that they are "poly symbolic." This tenn is incoherent, though. He wants to point to the fact that proverbs have multiple applications and referents, while at the same time making a universal claim. Yet, what kind of universality could this be? Proverbs are notorious for being apparent in their truth and contradictory between themselves, and are thus subject to interpretive conditions. Indeed, Wanjohi recognizes the interpretive nature of proverbs. Any universal arising from this could only be a universal that is arrived at as the result of a dialectical process. But if this is true, it makes proverbs no different from any other fonn of language that could serve as part of a dialectical process out of which universals might emerge. Wanjohi may weJl be aware of these problems, for he immediately moves to talking about proverbs as inductive generalizations (72). Even though he continues to use the word "universals" in this section (generalizations are not universals, of course), it is clear that he wants to establish at the same time the empirical (perhaps, quasi-scientific?) nature of proverbs, while keeping the rationalistic force that speaking of universals brings. It does not seem to me that he can do both-either proverbs are generated from human experience, in which case they are generalizations (and may be used in a dialectic that works toward some notion of universals, but cannot be universals themselves), or they are universal statements, in which case their connection with concrete human experience is tenuous. Wanjohi does not seem to be claiming any Aristotelian-style notion of concrete universals; rather, he seems to be driven by the need to have a basis for philosophy, along with a conviction that philosophy is about universals, whatever else it is about. All of this suggests that proverbs are not so much philosophy, as the occasion or impetus for philosophy. They may, along with speeches, songs, diaries, business contracts, political addresses, constitutions, and a host of other linguistic events, be the occasion for philosophical reflection to take place. They may, on the other hand, be recited in a rote and unreflective manner. There is nothing intrinsic in a proverb that makes it philosophical; rather. it is the place it plays in an interpretive context. Proverbs, like other philosophi-

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cally interesting linguistic and conceptual examples, become philosophical inasmuch as they respond to philosophical questions. In other words, the questions themselves are the location of philosophy, and the proverbs become philosophical to the extent that they answer or are involved with philosophical questions. Now, Wanjohi at least recognizes that at best he is arguing that proverbs imply a philosophy, rather than embody one, and that it may take a trained philosopher to draw out the philosophical implications (91). But this is not the same as arguing that the interpretive context and activity is significant. The picture here is of an esoteric thought available only to those "who have ears to hear." Philosophical ability is assumed to be professional ability, and while the native speakers may understand the meaning of the proverb at one level, the philosopher is needed to draw out the meaning at another. Why make a point out of this? Because it shows a tendency seen elsewhere in arguments for the anchor-point of African philosophy, a tendency to undervalue the philosophical value of African thought. The implication here is that this is philosophy, but it is not very good philosophy, at least until the professional gets his or her hands on it and turns it into something. Thus, the appeal to proverbs in this way actually may do a disservice to African philosophy, by making it (and the African philosophy based on it) permanently into a second-class pursuit.

Another Approach to Proverbs: Raphael Madu Raphael Madu's African Symbols. Proverbs and Myths: The Hermeneutics of Destiny approaches the status and nature of proverbs quite differently to Wanjohi and Gyekye. It is clear that he is not interested in using proverbs as a guarantee of the authenticity of any African philosophy that might emerge from their interpretation. He recognizes, as do Wanjohi and Gyekye. that language is significant in understanding human action and meaning. He does not, however, frame the philosophical questions as a function of the proverbs, but frames the proverbs as a function of the philosophical questions. His concern is the nature of destiny (Chi), and before his chapter on proverbs (ch. 9), he has established that destiny is paradoxical, that it is understood through the symbolic and mythological nfe of the Igba, and that understanding destiny is not simply a matter of interest for an anthropologist but contributes to the lifeworld of the Igbo. In other words, understanding the nuances of destiny means understanding Igbo daily life for one Who is part of the culture. Proverbs, then, contribute not by establishing that there is an Igbo philosophy on par with any other world philosophy (the question never comes up for Madu), but rather by showing the manner that one copes, or is competent, within Igba society.

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Madu recognizes the history of scholarship on proverbs themselves, and manages to avoid many of the criticisms I raised earlier. After a brief discussion of the general structure of proverbs (which is meant to establish their irreducibly interpretive nature), he analyzes and interprets a number of proverbs that speak of Chi. Interestingly, the implicit question in this section is not "What do the Igbo believe about Chi?" - a question meant to establish a static concept, and one that likely would have little use to someone living in the culture. The real question here is "what is life like for the one who understands Chi?" Madu engages in a close semantic analysis of several groups of proverbs, uncovering structural relationships both within proverbs and between them. After each such analysis, he provides a "hermeneutic recreation," which takes the semantic analysis a step further. The meaning is not located solely in the structure of the proverbs, but in what kind of life they point to or make possible. These hermeneutic re-creations provide an all too brief account of "limit-situations" (the existential boundaries that the proverbs express, 211; the limit of death, 221), expressions of time and existence (proverbs about women are really about links between the past and future, 203), the relationship between human agency and the seeming determinism of Chi (206-208), and the meaning of life in the face of death (214-6, 218). Madu expresses his approach to proverbs as "decod[ing] their broader and deeper meanings regarding human finality or destiny by trying to apprehend , 'the spark of imagination into a "thinking more" at a conceptual level' that is favored by their figurative presentation." (224) In other words, the tentative, sometimes contradictory nature of the proverbs reflects the paradoxes ' of human existence. They are not problems to be overcome, but mysteries to be understood. 21 In avoiding the impulse to see proverbs as a guarantee of authenticity of a culture, he has made it possible to actually use proverbs to 'i give access to a living culture.

How Could Proverbs be Relevant to Philosophy? As I have argued, proverbs may well be part of a philosophical mode of , thought, as any linguistic event might be. However, I am skeptical about the claim that they have some special status as a gateway or anchor-point to African philosophy. Perhaps the key here is not in the artifact itself, but in the conversation that is built around the artifact, and the world that the artifact marks out. Philosophy does not lie in its artifacts. These are just shells, carcasses if ' you will, that give evidence that there might have been philosophy present at one time. If we were to look to the works in the history of Western philosophy, we might smugly think that there is a great tradition because there are

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many texts. The fact is, to only look at the texts is to do history of ideas, not philosophy. In a similar manner, to look at proverbs is to do paremiology, not philosophy. What is the difference? Philosophy, as Hegel put it, is "thought thinking itself' (or in my formulation, thought questioning itself). As such, it is a present concern. As mentioned earlier, Gyekye elsewhere argues that tradition is not what is handed down from a previous generation, but what is appropriated by a current generation. The onus, therefore, is on the present, not on the past. Not everything from the past lives on-the question is, why does (or why should) a particular artifact, in this case a proverb, live on, and how should it live on? The stated purpose of most of the work on "proverbs as philosophy in Africa" is to prove that philosophy exists in traditional Africa. Why should this be a concern? In part because the West has always denied that Africans have any intellectual tradition; in part because philosophy has the cache (rightly or wrongly) of being the investigation of humanity's most profound intellectual questions. But is it the past that is being interrogated here, or the present? That is, is the point really that there was no intellectual reflection in the past, or that there are not the tools for intellectual reflection now, that they have to be borrowed and therefore yet again Africans owe anything positive to a foreign source? The insult, then, does not so much lie in the past as in the present. It is no wonder that Wanjohi is very keen to reject sage philosophy22 on the grounds that the sages are tainted by Western ideas, and therefore do not give a true representation of Africa. His whole argument (and for that matter, Gyekye's as well) is directed at the notion that there has to be a "pure" source for African intellectual thought. If there is not, the insult is not answered. I argued earlier that the notion of purity, so prevalent in African philosophy, is ultimately a futile one. Cultures are in constant conversation and always have been, and the issue is not one of finding the "pure" Africa that preceded European contact, but rather attending to the multiple conversations that make any culture possible. What if the proverb scholars gave up the search for a pure source of Africa philosophy? What if they gave up the search for the metaphysical anchor-point of African philosophy? It might seem as if everything is lost. I would like to argue that, in fact, it is at this point that African philosophy can begin. As I have mentioned, philosophy is thought questioning itself. It is a living enterprise, fed by reflection on a variety of cultural and linguistic practices. There is nothing, no text or practice or bon mot, in any tradition, that is intrinsically or necessarily philosophical; rather, anything may be taken as philosophical, as part of a conversation that seeks the universal in the

Chapter 6

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particular and the particular in the universal. Even Plato's Republic could be interrogated philosophically, but also in a variety of other ways; conversely, it has been the genius of theorists to show how fashion (Barthes), clinics (Foucault), diaries (de Beauvoir), cinema (Deleuze), and a host of other artifacts of culture might have philosophical import. 23 Proverbs are beginning to be engaged philosophically, and that is a good thing; however, they are engaged at the present in the most philosophically mundane and trivial fashion, as metaphysical guarantees. They are being asked to resemble texts that have been pressed into service elsewhere in the world, rather than interrogated in their own terms and made part of a present philosophical discussion. All this means that proverbs are philosophical when they are treated philosophically, but not otherwise. That means that using proverbs to demonstrate the existence of philosophy in traditional Africa will not succeed, since the point is either trite (of course, proverbs call be treated philosophically, anything can) or undecidable (but how, really, do we know that they were in a non-circular manner?) The real question, then, is about how we can approach proverbs philosophically. So, how is this possible? The African philosopher must necessarily draw on research from those who have used various disciplinary methods to address proverbs. That includes paremiologists, anthropologists, semioticians, literary and religious scholars. None of these are philosophical, necessarily, but they all inform philosophical questions. The philosopher must, though, move past simply classifying proverbs into pre-existing categories, or supposing that they are simply a conduit to some hidden (expected?) African reality that lies behind. What are some philosophical questions we might ask about proverbs? Here are a few:

ambiguous for anything but guesses. It is an attempt to consider the ways that people use these texts to reflect on their practical lives. 6. Proverbs might be seen by some as rote repetition of past wisdom (the same way that tradition is often regarded), and therefore resistant to philosophy. In what ways do these "traditional" elements of culture enable, rather than resist, self-reflection?

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1. Why do some proverbs continue to have currency, and others not? 2. Given that proverbs are ambiguous for a number of reasons, what do the choices about interpretation say about the community that is pressing them into service? 3. In what ways do proverbs aid in a community coming to its self-reflective understanding? (This is Madu's overriding concern) 4. Is there a change over time in proverbs that have currency? Can any of , this be related to changing senses of identity within a group? 5. Given that many proverbs have to do with practical action, how do these proverbs as texts aid in that action. both theoretically (as justification) and practically (as motivation)? This is more than an attempt to find "a theory of ethics" in the proverbs, for they are likely too compressed and

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Notice that none of these questions assume the philosophical content of proverbs, but all try to bring to light the assumption of self-reflection in the culture. In other words, I am arguing that all cultures have philosophy, to the extent that they have self-reflection about issues that at some point take on abstract or universal characteristics. Proverbs can be interrogated, as other texts can, to bring to light African philosophy. They cannot, on the other hand, be used to prove the existence of African philosophy, as Gyekye and Wanjohi want them to do. Madu's approach seems much more likely to show forth the possibilities of a living philosophy, than any attempt to justify the existence of African philosophy using proverbs.

NOTES 1. Godwin Sogolo, Foundations of African Philosophy: A Definitive Analysis of Conceptual Issues in African Thought (Ibadan, Nigeria: Ibadan University Press, 1993),22. 2. L. J. Louwrens, "Anthropocentrism, utilitarianism and supernaturalism in African world view: some linguistic evidence," South African Journal of Ethnology 23. nos. 2-3 (2000): 91-101. 3. Louwrens, "Anthropocentrism": 91. 4. Alexis Kagame, La philosophie bantu-rwandaise de l' Etre (Bruxelles, Belgium: Academie royale des Sciences coloniales, 1956). See also Alexis Kagame, La philosophie bantu compare (Paris: Presence Africaine, 1976), translated by Almut SeilerDietrich into German as Alexis Kagame, Sprache und Sein: Die Ontologie der Bantu Zentralafrikas (Heidelberg, Germany: P. Kivouvou Verlag-Editions Bantoues, 1985). 5. Sophie Oluwole. "The Africanness of a Philosophy" in Postkoloniales Philosophieren: Afrika, Nagl-Docekal and Franz Wimmer, eds. (Wien and Munich: R. Oldenbourg Verlag, 1992), 109. 6. Maniragaba Balibutsa, Le~' perspectives de la pensee philosophique banturwandaise apnJs Alexis Kagame (Butare, Rwanda: Editions Universite Nationale du Rwanda, Librairie Universitaire du Rwanda, 1985),487ff. 7. Balibutsa, Les perspectives de la pensee philosophique bantu-rwandaise: 504. 8. Barry Hallen and J. O. Sodipo, Knowledge, Belief, and Witchcraft: Analytic Experiments in ;Vrica Philosophy (London: Ethnographica Publishers, 1986). Re-

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print, with a new forward by W. V. O. Quine and a new afterword by Barry Hallen (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1997); Burry Hallen, The Good, The Bad, and The Beautiful; Discourse About Values in Yoruba Culture (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2000): Barry Hailen, "Some Observations about Philosophy, Postmodernism and Art in Contemporary African Studies," African Studies Review 38, no. 1 (April 1995): 69-80. In most cases I will refer to Hallen and Sodipo together, and by that include Hallen's recent work. If I mean to refer to one of Hailen's papers specifically, 1 will say so. 9. Hallen, The Good, The Bad, and the Beautiful, 34. 10. Hallen and Sodipo, Knowledge, Beliel: and Wiu'hcraft, 10. II, Hallen, The Good, the Bad, and the Beautiful, 5-6, 12, Barry Hallen, "African Meanings, Western Words" African Studies Review 40, no, 1 (April 1997); 7. 13. See, for instance, Dominic Nwasike, "Complexity and Usage: Proverbs as Vehicle to African Philosophy" in Pan-African Journal 9, no. 1(1976): 55-71; S. J. Neethling, "Proverbs: Window on the Xhosa World?" in South African Journal of African Languages 15, no. 4 (Nov, 1995): 191-196;A. E. Khuba. The PrMerbs as Mirror of the VhaVenda Culture and Philosophy. Unpublished Dissertation (Pietersburg, South Africa: University of the North, 1985); c. S, Momoh, "Philosophy in African Proverbs" in Momoh, ed., The Substance of African Philosophy (Auchi, Nigeria: African Philosophy Projects' Publications, 1989): 231-255. 14. Claude Sumner, Oromo Wisdom Literature, Vol. J: Proverbs Collection and Analysis (Addis Ababa. Ethiopia: Gudina Tumsa Foundation, 1995). See especially chapter 1. "Sapiential Approach:' 15. Kwame Gyekye. An Essay on African Philosophiml Thought: The Akan Conceptual Scheme, Revised Edition (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1995). 16. Gerald Wanjohi, The Wisdom and Philosophy of the Gikuyu Proverbs: The ! Kihooto ffi)rld-View (Nairobi, Kenya: Paulines Publications Africa. 1997). 17. Raphael Okechukwu Madu, African Symbols, Proverbs and Myths: The Hermeneutics o/Destiny (New York and Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang, 1992). Reprinted ' by Owerri, Nigeria: Assumpta Press, 1996. 18. Kwame Gyekye, "Philosophical Relevance of Akan Proverbs" in Second Order, An African Journal of Philosophy 4, no. 2 (July 1975); 45-53. 19. Gyekye actually often talks about Akan philosophy, rather than African philosophy in general, but it is clear that he intends what he says about Akan philosophy to apply to most other African societies. 20. Mieder's defInition of a proverb is "a short saying of apparent truth that has , currency." In offering a defiuition at all, he disputes the belief of one of his most illustrious predecessors. Archie Taylor, who argued that proverbs are indefinable. Indeed, Mieder has collected both "professional" and "colloquial" definitions of proverbs, as well as proverbs which define proverbs. His definition. though, seems to capture the essentials. 21. I am borrowing Gabriel Marcel's distinction between a problem and a mystery, from The Mystery of Being.

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22. Wanjohi does not even wait until the body of his book 10 critique sage philosophy, he makes his case against il in the preface (13), and comes back to it laler (90). 23. There is not Ihe space to expand the question of the relationship between philosophy and teXis here, but it is worth nuddng a note or two. There are texts whose authors intended them to be read as philosophy, and as such might be thought to be intrinsically philosophical texts. However, these authors do not necessarily govern the uses of the text. TIle text may address issues that are traditionally philosophical, and to that extent exist as part of an historical conversation, a set of interpretations that are part of a philosophical dialogue. However, if this text was divorced from this historical context, and we asked whether it should be considered philosophical. the response would still have to do with the way we decide to interrogate it. There will be some kinds of questions that will yield more immediate and obvious results, and otners that will yield little if anything, The text cannot be absolutely anything. But that does not mean that it is only one thing. This is relevant to the discussion of proverbs because those arguing for proverbs want them to at least be philosophical texts, and it is not clear that they necessarily have to be that.

Chapter Seven

Practicality: African Philosophy's Debts and Duties

CAN PHILOSOPHY BE PRACTICAL IN AFRICA? PHILOSOPHY AND ITS COMMUNITIES I sat in the conference room of the Vice-Chancellor at the University of Nairobi, along with the rest of the faculty from the philosophy department. The occasion: a colleague and I were being formally greeted as visiting scholars in the department. We had brought books to contribute, and my colleague even brought a computer, the first one in the department. As we sipped tea and talked about the importance of philosophy to a well rounded education (a topic strategically important to raise in a university pressed for finances, and looking for ways to cut back), one administrator remarked that philosophy did not contribute much to the world outside of the department itself. Philosophy should look for ways to bridge the gap between academia and society, she argued. On one level, everyone agreed that philosophy should be concerned about the world outside the walls of the university, and that perhaps it could do more. But on another level, this just seemed like departmental and methodological rivalries. After all, the administrator's training was in education, so advocating that philosophy find ways to become relevant seemed a bit like saying that philosophy was nothing without a socially oriented discipline such as education. One might answer that it is just as important that philosophy focus on the clarification of concepts, for without that, we might be educating people with faulty or even dangerous ideas. And, the fact that society was not able to understand the work philosophers did was not a reflection on the failure of philosophers to do their task. After all, no one outside of physics departments generally understands what the theoretical physicists are talking about either, and their work may be equally devoid of immediate 185

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"practical" benefit, yet they are seen as enriching the sum of knowledge in the world. As well, some of the philosophers were probably also uneasy with the notion that philosophy was supposed to have some utilitarian value in order to demonstrate its right to be part of the academy. Has philosophy not always considered itself more like art, having intrinsic rather than instrumental value? And finally, it was not clear whether the administrator was talking about the department or the discipline. Was this a call for the department to use its unique resources, whatever it is that philosophy does best, to enrich the university, or was this a call for the discipline of philosophy to c~ntribute to society in some positive way, rather than (as is the common perception) argue about abstract and inaccessible issues? : So I left the room pleased to be officially recognized but also a li.ttle wary at the direction the conversation had gone. What could the administrritpr have been suggesting? Whatever she may have meant, a couple of things'were clear: there is pressure on philosophy to "justify" itself, especially in a place of such obvious limited resources. If philosophy cannot produce anything that adds to the public good, it may have a difficult time justifying its continued existence in African universities. And second, it is also clear that practicality may well be defined differently for different people, and differently inside and outside of philosophy departments. The importance placed on practicality might suggest that the term has been carefully examined within African philosophical circles. Unfortunately, this has not been the case. Most African philosophers would likely agree that philosophy should be practical (indeed, it is common to find some mention of its importance), but explicit and implicit definitions of practicality among these philosophers varies widely. In this chapter, I intend to point out the possible senses of practicality and their limits. I want to look at the writings of several African philosophers to determine where they fit in the spectrum of senses of practicality. Finally, I wish to suggest a way of thinking about practicality that may be able to deal with the limitations of some of the current notions.

I

ON PRACTICALITY Practicality could mean many different things in philosophy in general. For example: • "Practical philosophy" may be something like "practical gardening," not just talking about landscaping, botany, and other "theoretical" topics, but actually going out and doing it (of course, it might be hard to imagine exactly how this would apply in philosophy, but we will leave that to the ' side for the moment).

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• In the view of some university administrators, "practical" means "moneymaking." So, the call for a department to be practical is the call for it to be self-supporting, or better yet, money-generating for the university. • "Practical" may be equivalent to useful, as opposed to useless (but useful to who, for what purpose? And is this really a binary opposition we can take seriously?). Practical in this sense may also have the connotation of "implementable." If someone says that a plan is not practical, it may mean that it cannot be implemented under existing conditions. • "Practical philosophy" is a distinction, opposed to "theoretical philosophy" in Scandinavian philosophy departments that organize themselves along the lines of Kantian critical philosophy. Odera Oruka mentions this in the introduction to Practical Philosophy. • Practicality could refer to the ability or intent of changing the world, as opposed to merely engaging in arid speculation or discussion. (Marx, eleventh thesis on Feuerbach - note the opposition of interpreting the world and changing it, as if doing one precludes doing the other.) • Practicality may relate to "praxis." For Aristotle, this means a distinction from poesis, phronesis, and other forms of knowledge of contingencies. It is one of the arts which allow construction of things for human use. Practical reason is the know-how of making. Kant calls this technical reason, and distinguishes it from practical reason as a function of freedom. On this definition, technological advancement would be the most important form of practical reasoning. • Practicality in philosophy often refers to ethics and social philosophy. These are practical in the sense that they are philosophical responses to questions raised by the non-academic world, rather than questions raised by philosophers themselves. • Philosophy may be deemed practical if it contributes to human survival. • Philosophy may be deemed practical if it contributes to human happiness. • Practicality may refer to representation of or applicability to the community (however that community is defined). It is not just useful, but reflective of how the community really is. In this sense a theatrical performance that shows the community for what it is, or helps it imagine what it could be, could be seen as practical. • Practicality may be derivable from the community, in the sense that there is a clear relationship between the human, "common" source of ideas, and the philosophical working out of them. A practical philosophy might just be a philosophy recognizable by non-philosophers. • Practical, in Kant's sense, is a technical term, just as "pure" is. There is a division between theoretical and practical (and a further distinction between "pure theoretical" and "pure practical"). Practicality has to do with

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freedom and is susceptible to reason, as opposed to understanding (which is part of "theoretical") or judgment (which links theoretical and practical). This is a philosophical distinction, as opposed to the above-mentioned administrative distinction in Scandinavian philosophy departments. There are, perhaps, many more senses that we could suggest for the term "practical" in the context of philosophy, but the point of making a Jist such as this is to demonstrate the wide difference of uses of the term, and also to suggest that some of these uses may actually contradict other uses. S9rne , for example, may emphasize rational or theoretical justification whil,t others may point to the contingent (and, in many cases, irrational) motivations for a c t i o n . ' To make matters worse, there is a set of related terms that have som~hing to do with practicality in philosophy. These include "public" philosoph}/(or "public intellectual"), applied philosophy, practical reason, relevance, I appJi:" cability, philosophy of action, philosophy of practice, and philosophical practice. All these also carry some of the implications that "practical" philosophy carries. The key here seems to be the question of the relationship between the philosophical world and the non-philosophical, or more likely, the non-academic world. Practicality seems to point to a certain kind of relationship, or at least that philosophy attends to the fact that there is a relationship. Western philosophy has several traditional areas in which practicality in philosophy emerges. Philosophy of action, for instance, attempts to account for the nature and impetus of human action. How do we distinguish actions from each other, and how do we account for the provocation or impetus to action? Intentionality is a key concept in this area, and the philosopher is often concerned with questions such as "When is an action my action?", "To what extent does the wil1 playa part in this?", and "How do we describe agents?" Another common place for the notion of practicality to occur in philosophy is in rational choice theory. Indeed, the entry in the recent Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy under "practical rationality" is almost completely concerned with the rationality of means and ends (that is, expected utility theory), or the question of how one might reach a desired goal most efficiently. A third sense of practicality in philosophy has to do with ethics and politics. Kant distinguished between theoretical and practical reason, and made the second the domain of ethical thought. In this sense of practicality, two sorts of positions are common. Some think that practicality is principally connected to the justification of action, but need not (indeed, cannot) motivate action, while others think that practicality must both justify and motivate action. In other words, for some it is enough to recognize and describe proper

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behavior, while for others an account of what would in fact stimulate such behavior is also necessary. Fourth, there is a sense that practicality is part of the American pragmatist tradition. It is not, however, a matter of applying theory to life, but judging theory by life. Truth is established only through success in the world of human practice. A fifth place that the notion of practicality appears in Western philosophy comes out of the phenomenological and hermeneutic traditions. Gadamer and others insist that theory is always the reflection on the concrete world of shared human meaning, and the result of this is the ability to enter back into that world. A great actor, for instance, is able to produce a more profound portrayal of a character, not primarily because of acting technique but because of a deeper understanding, at both the conscious and the unconscious level, of the world of meaning of that character, and of the world of the stage, and of the audience. The actor has what Aristotle called "phronesis," or what might be seen as the true meaning of "tact," the ability to know the right thing to do at the right time through an intimate knowledge of the contingencies of the world and the history of representations. Now, are African philosophers generally talking about any of these when they ask the question "can philosophy be practical in Africa?" Likely the closest would be "practicality as ethics" (Oruka explicitly takes this meaning), although one could see the argument for interpreting the question as "How can philosophy be used to materially and socially enrich Africa?" which would be a form of an expected utility theory question. Yet, for the African outside of philosophy departments, the question may well be put more generally and hence not quite fall into any of these categories. The question is likely synonymous with "How can we alleviate Africa's problems?" Put even more simply, the question is "What should Africa do?" As should be immediately apparent, these more general questions, while they may appeal to the non-philosopher, are unacceptably ambiguous for the philosopher. Practical to whom, we might ask? Practical on whose understanding of the problems of Africa? If the problems are defined in tenns of Africa's marginal position in a world economy, the practical solution is to change economic structures so that it participates. If the problems are defined in terms of corruption in society, the practical solution is to either set up deterrents to corruption, or make other options more attractive so that it is not in anyone's interest to be corrupt. If the problems are defined in terms of the anomie that accompanies the clash between traditional and modern forms of life, the answers tend to revolve around the recovery of the traditional in the modem. African philosophers have suggested various versions of practicality that might help with this.

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PRACTICALITY AND SOME PHILOSOPHERS

but science that Africa needs first." Once Africa has met its problems scientifically, a philosophy can develop based on these solutions. Until then, attempts at philosophy will be based on nothing at all, and hence cannot be practical. It is worth noting that, for Hountondji. philosophy is not practical at all except as it is related to something that has the power to act. Taban 10 Liyong puts the position more sharply:

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In order to understand how African philosophy has understood practicality. we will consider examples from five African philosophers. 2 The first is from Paulin Hountondji, the second from Kwame Gyekye, the third from H. Odera Oruka, the fourth from Ngugi wa Thiong'o, and the fifth is from Oladipo lrele. These are by no means the only philosophers who have had something to say about practicality, but in some important sense they typify the range of approaches on the topic. I would also like to consider. one example of someone who is skeptical about current understandings of practicality, Peter Bodunrin.

Paulin Hountondji Hountondji sees philosophy in a Kuhnian manner- it is not systematic but historical, its history is not continuous but dialectical, and hence prone to revolutions, and it is in the midst of a revolution at this time. 3 The first of these statements is not meant to imply that philosophy is not methodological, but rather that it is not complete. It continually unfolds, and because of this no philosophical stand can ever be seen as "The Truth." Indeed, truth does not reside in propositions, but in the process of looking for truth. Even philosophers such as Hegel who claim to have given an overview of world history (and thus seem to suggest that they can arrive at some transcendent notion of truth) have only shown how contingent truth is over history. Hegel recognized the necessity of historical movement, but in his vanity supposed that history had ended with his own reflective work.4 This means that philosophy bears a strong resemblance to science, in its recognition of its own partiality and its progressive nature. The problem for African philosophy is that it has not recognized this yet It passes off "ethnophilosophy" as real philosophy, despite the fact that it does not have the reflective or progressive character, nor the knowledge of its own partiality, that Hountondji thinks real philosophy must have. He dismisses Tempels' Banlu Philosophy out of hand, and also ultimately rejects Marcel Griaule's Conversations wilh Ogolemmeli because it at best exhibits an individual art ' of discourse. At least Griaule allowed the "primitive" to speak, unlike Tempels, even if it was simply representative discourse of a culture. But it is not, philosophy.s Why is this important for the question of practicality? Hountondji argues' that philosophy should be practical (although he uses the term "philosophical practice") by being closely allied to the sciences. 6 He sees science as having progressive and emancipatory possibilities, and indeed it is "not philosoph)'

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I am fed up with Blacks like Louis Armstrong braying like a wounded animal while another man named Armstrong walks on the Moon. I am fed up with Blacks running like animals and bloodying their noses in the boxing arena. Why don't they use all that energy for studying economics, physics, business management, writing symphonies, manufacturing missiles? ... If a Black Kenyan puts up a building as big as the Hilton, ] will worship him for a fuJI day. If a Black man received the Nobel Prize for science or medicine, 1 will worship him. ] spit on the Blacks who win the Nobel Prize for Peace.?

Practicality, for Liyong and for Hountondji, must be tied to the material betterment of society, not simply representing the African world (Hountondji) or fixing problems (Liyong). One might ask Hountondji, though, whether philosophy itself has any emancipatory possibilities. Indeed, in putting one's faith in science and seeing philosophy develop out of that. is it not very easy to fall into exactly the same problems that Europe fell into since the Enlightenment? Science as savior can quickly tum into science as scourge. At the very least, it seems that there is a place for philosophy to be the conscience of science. But even at that, it is not clear that science can proceed unhindered Science, as has been amply shown by various thinkers in the sociology of science, is a tool of those who have power. It acts in the interests of certain people. Its solutions are ones of control and manipulation; indeed, for many scientists, this is the hallmark of whether a process has been understood, if it can be controlled and manipulated. Now, that kind of solution imports a certain attitude toward the problems of Africa (and anywhere else, for that matter)-that the constituent parts of the problem are like parts of a mechanism or machine, that end result tends to be privileged over process, that the freedom of humans can be curtailed in the interests of efficiency and productivity. Scientific answers to problems are answers of a certain kind; they are not pure reason at work, locating some "best of all possible worlds" solution. And, if the problems involve human action in any way (which most do), solving the problem scientifically may involve some form of social engineering that ultimately reduces humans and what they hold important to something less than they really are. Scientific solutions may be needed, but they must also be approached with a great deal of care.

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Kwame Gyekye Kwame Gyekye gives us a different answer. He also argues that philosophy should be practical; specifically, it is a "conceptual response to human situations."8 He argues against the common view of philosophy, that it is an abstract, ivory tower enterprise that has no relation to anything anyone else cares about. Those who escaped from Plato's cave came back, after all, to help the ones who were left there (and, he neglects to mention, be killed in the process). Gyekye gives a quick account of philosophers who have been deeply concerned with the social conditions of theiltime, and pressed philosophy into service for the amelioration of the pligijt of the oppressed.9 It is interesting to read his list of thinkers, most of\whom argued for wideranging social reform, and then compare it to the oniY"real example Gyekye himself gives of practical philosophy later in the book. ''Pplitical Corruption: AMoral Pollution" is his attempt to deal with an endemic prob.lem~in :AfriCan states, and one which most people, philosophers or not, would identify as one of the important issues in society. His strategy is not to make a wide-ranging critique of a system, but rather to attempt a more narrow analysis of a moral problem. He begins by addressing the question of whether corruption is a moral problem at all. In a move very different from Hountondji, Gyekye argues that this problem has been defined as a social-scientific one, which is a mistake. He resists causal accounts of the problem (perhaps for similar reasons as I suggested above when dealing with Hountondji's account of practicality and philosophy). It is, in fact, a moral problem, and once it is defined properly we may be able to come to grips with it. 1O While Gyekye begins his analysis by drawing on social-scientific accounts of the nature of corruption, then, he does not want to allow that social science gives any idea about how corruption can be ended. His evidence is in the common understanding of people who are in a corrupt society - they do not rail against the political system that produced the corruption, or the economic circumstances that the corrupt person may use to justify the action. Rather, they complain about the moral failing of that person. But what is gained by calling corruption a moral problem (rather than a political or economic problem), other than to justify the work or relevance of philosophers? Gyekye is not clear on this. We might expect that a new solution would arise in the redefinition of the problem in this way. but in fact it does not. The solution presented is "radically to change the attitudes and responses of people, including public officials. to accepted moral (and legal) rules and prescriptions: this radical change in moral responses is what I call commitmental moral revolution."" But is this not exactly what anyone else.

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from another discipline, might also suggest? People need to change their attitudes. There is not a word about how this is to be done; one assumes the answer would have something to do with public education. If this was presented to someone outside the academic world as a practical solution to the problem of corruption, I suspect they would respond with amazement. Where is the plan of action? How can we tell if we are getting anywhere? What can we do. now? There is another problem. Gyekye's argument hinges on rejecting the notion that there is a "culture of corruption." as other writers have termed it. He depends on the rejection of this notion, because his solution is meant to call (potential) offenders to a publicly accepted morality, and jf there is a culture of corruption, there is no publicly accepted morality, or at least, corruption becomes publicly accepted or tolerated. But morality is not so simple as this. One might agree that, in general, people ought not to be corrupt. But there are all sorts of ways a person might justify action in a particular case. One might argue that his or her needs outweigh the harm to society. He or she might decide that, in fact, corruption is a political response to an unjust system. Indeed, one may agree that there should not be corruption in general solely because it makes specific political transgressions more potent. So, there is no necessity that we recognize that there is a basically moral culture that we can use to call people to account. and even if there is such a moral culture, ethical decisions are almost always ones of weighing competing values. There is a third problem with Gyekye's account of corruption: morality seems to be defined as an individual trait: Political corruption is so called because it is a kind of corruption that infects (some) individuals holding political or public office, while the victims are public fortunes, resources, or interests. But it should more realistically be seen within the context of such concepts as moral weakness, moral responsibility, and virtue (or, good character),12

Social science, he says later, may deal with the structural problems (political, economic, etc,) that would make corruption a legitimate option, but in fact corruption may still occur. We might ask, however, whether morality is really only a matter of individual responsibility. Is it not possible that social conditions may determine or privilege a particular kind of moral imagination, making certain options seem legitimate and others not, and still others not even imaginable? Furthermore, we might also ask whether characterizing morality as an individual activity makes much sense especially in an African context. Perhaps this is not so much a problem of rule breaking, as it is a problem of the definition of the communities to which one owes allegiance. Bending an abstract system in favor of a set of concrete needs in a community

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that one strongly feels part of may be seen as a basicaIly moral act, akin to stealing a loaf of bread to feed a hungry child. Of course, I am not suggesting that all corruption has this higher moral quality to it-most of it, in fact, likely is nothing more than personal enrichment. But the point remains, that to make a practical analysis of a problem like corruption in society only a matter of individual moral choice seems to leave out other ways of thinking about morality in society. Gyekye thinks that calling corruption a moral issue gives a new opportunity to suggest practical solutions that are not aVlitiiable to the social sciences, and would therefore be an example of the pratticality of philosophy in society. The uniquely philosophical solution, in pyekye's opinion, is a moral revolution, a break from the past that ushers in\a new paradigm of action. It is not clear, however, just how such a revolution ,would be brought about, or who would define its contours. It is as if morality is:imagined as the COlilSC:ltlllS decisions for action that we make, without recognizing that action is encased in a whole group of cultural and historical contexts. The problem may not be so much a weakness of will (knowing the right thing. but doing something else),13 but rather a more complex notion of the right thing. And, the problem still remains that Gyekye advocates revolution (at least the sort that would affect the individual's choices), but gives no idea of how this can be done. Hountondji, then, favors results at the cost of the ability to critique the process, while Gyekye favors philosophy's ability to analyze problems, at the cost of not actually being able to propose a course of action. In both cases, there remains a gap between philosophy and action. In the first, it is deferred, and in the second, it ultimately remains accountable only to itself.

participation in their futures, because they will be only concerned with issues of survival. Not only that, but if things continue as they have been, there is the very real possibility of confrontation between the haves and the have-nots of the world, which will undermine all rational discourse. It is interesting to see how Oruka talks about this issue. It is a practical issue, but also a moral issue, which seems to indicate that these two are not the same thing,l6 it is practical in the sense that nothing else can happen without this issue being addressed. The fact that practical is separated from "moral" suggests that there is also a rational justification, as opposed to simply a prudential justification, for action. This is an interesting deviation for him, in that normally "practical" and "moral" are almost synonymous. While Oruka explicitly talks about practicality toward the end of the essay, 1 would like to argue that the most interesting section concerning practicality comes at the beginning, where he talks about four "missions" (a word he takes as the equivalent of "achievement" in the paper's title) of philosophy: the truth mission, the aesthetic mission, the communicative mission, and the moral mission. When he speaks of the truth mission, he readily admits that philosophers disagree now as much as they ever did. The key is in the search, not the product. This search should be seen as a complement of science (rather than an afterthought, as Hountondji would have it). Although Oruka does not say as much, it seems that the fact that philosophy is defined by its searching serves to leaven the attitude of science, which judges itself by its products or results. A focus only on results does not ask moral questions; a focus only on process can be frustrating. So, the truth search of philosophy adds something important to what is already there. The aesthetic mission is an unexpected component of Oruka's description. He does not tend to spend much time on the narrative or artistic aspects of philosophy in his other work. It is, however, a welcome turn, as it recognizes that philosophy itself is a discourse, and not just arid logic. It recognizes the rhetorical force of philosophy, and even as the search for truth allies philosophy with science, this allies it with literature, art, and other means of expression. The communicative mission takes the unending nature of the search for truth, and the need for aesthetic expression, and fuses them into dialectic. Dialogue resists reduction to ends, and the fact that truth for philosophers comes in the form of dialogue suggests that it is a communal affair, however one wants to define the community at issue. The moral mission is the other side of communication. Oruka sees morality as linked with praxis. This is usually what he means when he talks about practical philosophy-moral reflection. But it is worth noting that it is one

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H. Odera Oruka The only place where H. Odera Oruka explicitly tells us what he means by . "practical" in his collection of essays called Practical Philosophy is in the first paragraph of the introduction. There, he relates his use of the term to the use in Scandinavian universities, where philosophy departments are divided between theoretical and practical philosophy. Practical philosophy, then, "addresses principles of ethics and the rules of their application in the social, political, religious, and legal life of humankind."14 He does, however, give us a concrete example of a "practical necessity" in . an article called "Achievements of Philosophy and One Current Practical Ne- , cessity for Mankind: The Question of the Present and Future of Humanity."u The practical necessity for mankind that he identifies is the elimination of poverty. It is a practical necessity because without it, nothing else can reasonably happen. Specifically, people will not be able to have meaningful rational

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of four missions, and indeed it could be seen in a kind of tension with the communicative mission. Morality wants action, which requires decisions. Communication wants to carryon the conversation, which defers decisions. Morality wants to "improve the world"; communication wants to understand the state ofthe world. Still, morality seems to address the concerns of the nonacademic world best of all the missions, better even than communication, for that may just be a one-way response rather than a dialogue. Under normal circumstances (apart from the occasions where by practical he means "prudential"), Oruka would probably be sern to argue that the last mission is where the practicality of philosophy lies . .!;iut this view is problematic, for several reasons. For one, this version of praqtical philosophy tends to be piece-meal. One identifies a specific problem in s~ciety, and then finds the appropriate philosophical tool for the task. More rad~cal thinkers would to identify the problems as related to an underlying de~iciency in the strll:l;ture of society. So (to use Gyekye's example), one cannot address the problem of corruption in society as a separate issue from all others, ill which you find some ethical principles to convince people that it is not in their interests to be corrupt. The problem is with the structure of a society that makes corruption necessary for some. The problem is poverty. Indeed, we cannot stop there, for why is there poverty? Because of certain economic policies, certain political commitments, local, national and world economic conditions, political unrest, and so forth. In other words, "practical" philosophy will not get us very far if it does not take a radical tum. Second: even if you can address a specific issue, you can't get people to adopt your solutions very easily. Philosophers tend to propose these lovely sets of principles, and when things do not work, they decry the lack of reason in society. If only we could train people in philosophy, the murmuring in the halls goes, they would live reasonably instead of by their passions or desires, and the world would be a better place. But this suggests that the real practical mission of philosophy is to teach people to be reasonable. The problem is that reason does not always lead to a unified conclusion (despite the earnest hope and belief of Socrates). So, philosophy has not truly met the needs of society yet, because it has not met what is called reason in society itself, but rather proposed answers in terms of its own versions of reason. The third problem with "practical" philosophy if we limit Oruka to only the moral mission, is that it is not self-critical enough. Specifically, practicality may itself have science as a model, in which the object is to control and manipulate the world. If philosophy is to be practical, it may simply see itself like science, solving the problems that science itself seems unable to. But the notion of control itself needs to be critiqued. We have seen how social

manipulation by social sciences has led to mixed results at best. Society is too complex to be reduced to causes and effects. But this is what practical philosophy often proposes to do, only substituting "thought" or "world-view" for some other causal factor. It is the new "cause" that aims to produce certain effects in society. Philosophy should be critical about its own methodology, and in this case, it does not seem to be. It seems to simply adopt a version of scientific control to its own purposes. The fourth problem with practical philosophy is that it tends to tum philosophy into a tool. Even if it is a tool for the betterment of society, the tool is still being used by someone. We might ask, who is using this tool? And, just as pertinently, what other uses is this tool serving? One might, for example, "solve" a problem of society using a philosophical tool, and at the same time deflect criticism from a government that deserves to be criticized. Success on one front can discourage discourse on other fronts. Suppose that corruption is cut in half through some proposal made by philosophers. Does that mean that the people are happier, or less in need of better wages? Not necessarily. Government policy may be no better than before, but the problem has been hidden or displaced by practical philosophy. The fifth problem is in the core assumption of practical philosophy, which is that people act based on sets or systems of ideas, and that action can be changed by altering an existing system or proposing a new one. This is a common philosophical view, that concepts precede and produce action, but it is a view that can be questioned. There is no a priori reason why this should be the case, rather than the opposite, that concepts are reflections on existing action. It is entirely possible that action comes from somewhere other than concepts, and concepts are a kind of rationalization after the fact. Various philosophers have argued for something like this, in different ways. Marx, Freud, and Nietzsche have all argued this point, suggesting that economic interest, desire, or power is the real impetus of action. Heidegger and others have also argued in this fashion, suggesting that our actions are the basis of meaning in human existence, and out of that vast spring of unreflected meaning we choose to focus on different aspects, constructing reflective concepts, which are themselves always only partial and contingent on the ever-changing base of individual and collective action. Now, if the view has any legitimacy at all, that action precedes concept rather than following it, the simplistic version of Oruka's practical philosophy cannot remain. His practical philosophy, at least this interpretation of it, requires that ideas precede action and not the reverse, and that by changing ideas we can change action. In other words, the relationship has to be oneway. from idea to action. If it is from action to idea, or if it is a two-way relationship, this version of practicality will not work.

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Sixth and finally: Druka's theoretical foundation for his practical philosophy is humanism, which he defines as "the quality and security of human life." Many of the essays in Practical Philosophy speak to this concern, as they at least raise (if not actualIy solve) large scale issues such as poverty, nuclear war, environmental damage, and so forth. There is a kind of foundationalism here, which justifies the choice of ends. As mentioned before, practical philosophy itself, left at the level of means-ends determinations, does not address the question of what end is worth working for. So, at the same time as Druka tries to clarify the question of ends through mptal philosophy, he ultimately needs to rely on a foundation only scantily argued for, the notion that humanity ought to survive, and that all humans QUght to have a basic quality of life that will allow for rational discourse. While intuitively this may be a laudable goal, it does not complete the circle of practical philosophy, because it cannot rule out the use of practical philosophy for less laudable (b)li no doubt intuitively correct, to those who hold them) use.!i!. such as colonialism and race superiority. Humanism itself, for some a value s~ob\!ious it is hardly worth arguing for, has been subjected to intense scrutiny by a number of recent philosophers, as carrying with it moral imperatives that marginalize various voices, both present and past, and valorizing a dominant intellectual tradition at the expense of other lesser known streams of thought. If humanism guides practical philosophy, we may end up with a very conservative and very ineffective result, dominated by those who are able to control just what "humanism" contains. So, there are problems. Despite these problems, though, we might step back and look at the philosophical forebears of Druka 's views on practicality. The only one he mentions is Kant, so that is where we will turn. While historically the Scandinavian phi1osophy departments may have had Kant in mind when setting up the distinctionbetween theoretical and practical philosophy, it is not clear, upon considering Kant's actual philosophy, that the description given really gets at what Kant wants. To be sure, Kant is concerned about the way we make decisions outside of the realm of the theoretical, but in fact he is also clear that there is a "pure practical reason," as well as simply "practical reason." In other words, there are synthetic a priori principles in practical reason as there are in pure reason. The key for Kant is not the construction of principles, but the fact that practical reason proceeds from human freedom whiJe theoretical understanding does not. Why should this matter, in the case before us? In part because Drub's explicit use of the term seems to revolve around analyzing phenomena to arrive at the rules under which a person or group does (and, by extension, should) operate. Rarely is the concept of freedom brought into this kind of analysis.

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Again, why should this matter? In part, because Kant wrote three critiques. After the Critique of Practical Reason was done (indeed, well before it was started), he realized that a third critique was needed to bridge the gap between theoretical and practical reason. Leaving things as they were ignored the question of how one is actually able to discern the situations in which practical reason applies. If you consider practical reason by itself, you cannot determine whether you actually are speaking of technical reason, that is, rules of skill which are technically practical, or morally practical, which are founded on the principle of freedom. A new feature of human life is needed, jUdgment, that can tell us which is which. Some of what Druka calls practical. seems to actually be technically practical reasoning. This is not simply physically utilitarian reasoning (although sometimes it is, if we take his comments about world poverty mentioned earlier at face value), but also reasoning which tells us how to reach a desired goal. There is the proJection to the future, of what the "good life" might look like, and arguments as to how we might get there. Even his definition at the beginning of the book has this sense attached to it. Finding principles of ethics and addressing the rules of their application in various areas assumes that ethics moves from the top down, first formulating principles and then applying them. But this necessarily means that reasoning to reach a goal is central to the activity. The goal may be a well-ordered society, or the curtailing of corruption, or solving various intractable social problems. But ethics is seen as a goal-oriented activity, judged by its success "practically." This sense of practical, then, has more to do with technical practicality than moral, for the ethicist becomes a skilled individual, a social analyst who gains credentials by whether his or her advice, upon application, results in positive change. And this, in fact, runs exactly against Kant's sense of the term "practical," for it leaves out the notion of freedom. While Kant was very interested in rules. these rules could not be for a purpose, even if that purpose was as lofty as a well-ordered society. But who could argue with working toward the betterment of society? At the abstract level, perhaps one cannot, but the real question is, how can we tell if society is better than before? The ethicist of this sort is in the unenviable position of making recommendations which demand some external verification, but which can have none. Do we rely on statistics, say, of crime rates dropping, greater employment. etc.? That does not necessarily mean that the society is ethical; indeed, societies which have a strong organized crime element may have little "crime" within their own borders (it is defined by an outside standard, not their own), and have no unemployment. Do we rely on the long view of the historian, years down the line, to determine whether a person's advice was good? That makes it difficult to be held accountable for

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advice now. Do we rely on public opinion? Surely not-some very perspicacious thinkers and ethical leaders have been in the minority in their world. So, then, how is the ethicist judged? We might want to say that the ethicist cannot be judged at all, that ethical pronouncements are more like moral theology than they are like social science.lfthat is the case, though, we need to revise our sense of "practical," for one hallmark of practicality is that there is some way of measuring success. But, one might ask, what is the other option? If technical practical reason simply relies on ambiguous evidence for its justification.do we opt for something like Kant's pure practical reason? This too seems problematic, for the reason that it does not yet incorporate judgment. It is! not what most people would consider practical, because it does not address ithe question of action, but only of ends. Without the notion of judgment, ~he philosopher seems stuck between providing technical advice or providin$ commentary on ~ds, neither of which truly gets at the issue of practice. .. Now, it is unclear how to take Oruka. Much of the time, he seems to equate practical philosophy with moral philosophy,l7 which i~ what I have. b~n calling the "simplistic" view of practicality. As I have Just shown, thiS IS a problematic view. As I shall argue shortly, however, there is a deeper se?se of practicality that flows through Oruka's work that may hold more promise.

practice, has a responsibility to Africa, and he has to protect African interests, and fight Western exploiters, to fashion a new ethos, which is his contribution toward nation-building."19 Ngugi's comment encapsulates nicely the limitations of some other versions of practical philosophy. On the simplistic interpretation, these others want a practical philosophy, which essentially means a set of concepts, tools and methods directed at "practical" issues, defined as issues of concern to those outside of the philosophical world, or more broadly, outside of the academic world. But it is still theory, or still an attempt to find a set of rules or principles that, if adopted, might change the way society works. Now, does this mean that Ngugi and others are correct, that what we need is a philosophy of practice, not a practical philosophy? It may seem that way on the surface, but that also has its problems. This more radical answer, which attempts to address the underlying structures of society and change them, still falls into a quasi-scientific account of the social world. It still assumes that we can control society, but that we need to cut at the root rather than simply at the branches. Ngugi is clearly correct that many problems are a result of structural and historical problems, rather than (as Gyekye would have it) a simple misunderstanding of morals and an inability to do the right thing, or (as Hountondji would argue) insufficient attention to progress. However, that observation itself does not necessarily yield practice. Perhaps the common problem is this: both the ad hoc version of practicality and the radical version assume a linear relationship between theory and practice. If we get our theory straight, or in the radical case, the conditions for the possibility of our theory, then the practice wil1 follow. There is little or no provision to see theory as dependant on practice. So, while the radical thinker may accuse "practical philosophers" of simply nibbling at the edges of societal problems, these practical philosophers may plausibly accuse the radical thinker of social engineering. To extend Ngugi's comment, what is needed is not a practical philosophy, and not a philosophy of practice, but a philosophical practice.20

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N gugi wa Thiong' 0 Ngugi wa Thiong'o suggests another approach to the question of practicality: "Practice is both the starting point and the testing ground of our conceptualization of the world. What is needed is not so much the recovery of practical philosophy as the recovery of the philosophy of practice. "IS

Ngugi is calling for a much more radical solution to the problems of society than any of the other three have yet proposed. Instead of taking a progressivist view, such as Hountondji, or an ad hoc view, such as Gyekye, or a consequen- . ~ tialist view, such as Oruka, Ngugi takes the view that the society itself is the .• problem, and needs to be changed from the ground up. It is a common view in . Western thought since before Marx, the notion that solving specific problems will at best do nothing, and at worst perpetuate the structures in society that fuel the problems. In Marx's case, the problem was class; in Ngugi's, it is colonialism and its lingering effects. Of course, a host of African thinkers of all sorts would agree with this basic critique. From Cesaire to Fanon to Okot p'Bitek to Serequeberhan, the only· real practical action in Africa is radical political and social change, and resistance to the West. As Taban 10 Liyong says, "A writer, in African theory and

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Oladipo Irele There is also the kind of practicality which attempts to bridge the gap between (potentially irrelevant) theory and (potentially unreflective) practice. Oladipo lrele, in In the Tracks ofAfrican Predicament: Philosophy and Contemporary Socio-Economic and Political Problems of Africa,21 addresses the common analytic philosophical argument that strictly speaking it is beyond the ability of philosophy to be practical at all. As the case is made, "Philosophy is only concerned with the logic of certain claims. It is not a philosopher's job to establish matters of fact or establish or disestablish substantive normative

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claims .... Anything that undermines the strictly normative and ideological neutrality of philosophy is importing an impurity and should be excluded from philosophy."22 The answer, however, is not simply to have an engaged philosophy that risks being uncritical. Irele argues that Philosophy becomes a social critique or a cultural criticism. It will jettison all the metaphysical platters like Yoruba concept of Ori, Mind/Body problem in Yoruba, and Akan concept of Truth but will deal with pressing problems of life in Africa. For us, in our present situation, this boils down to Cf~amining the issues such as that of ideology, democracy, education, depend¥ncy, ethnicity, modernity, development, racism, exploitation and imperialism. 1)hese are not the I perennial problems of philosophy, if indeed there are any.23 I

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Irele's answer to the question of how philosophy can be ;elevant in Afric~ . revolves around maintaining the dual roles of giving detailed social analysis as well as critique. The philosopher must "dirty his hands" with non::philosophical material, and engage other disciplines. At the same time. the philosopher still must be the one who produces larger frameworks of "how things hang together." Irele's vision is one where philosophy's strength, which he takes as its analytic and clarifying ability, is brought into coordination with the strengths of other disciplines in a dialogue of equals, with the goal of creating a descriptive and explanatory social theory. There may be several questions one raises to this enterprise. Irele recognizes at least one of these. It is possible that this move toward coordination and toward a grand theory could produce a totalizing theory, the chief problem of which (Irele argues) is that it loses touch with the empirical world. He suggests two reasons why this need not occur. The first is that all the elements (that is, all the disciplines) will be historically grounded, and so this will be a historicized social theory. The second is that "Rawlsian retlective equilibrium will militate against it becoming a grand theory in the Hegelian sense of grand theory."24 According to Irele, this notion of equilibrium states that a theory wil1 always have parts that do not rationalize immediately. The process of rationalization is the process of grounding and testing the theory:

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So, philosophy is able to bridge the tension between theory and practice in two ways, according to Irele. First, it is able to place itself as a peer among other disciplines, and thus bring its own strengths of theoretical analysis to the strengths that other disciplines may have in empirical analysis. Second, it is able to dialectically act and react, driven by the fact that complex theory does not immediately line up, either with itself or the observed world. As such, philosophy can contribute to practical action in the world. The rest of Irele's book puts into practice his theoretical analysis at the beginning. Using Nigeria as his recurring example, he takes on such questions as that of the relationship between ideology and development. Why have there been recurring failures in development in Nigeria? Irele begins with a standard Marxian analysis which traces the problems to the unequal structure of society that was inherited from colonial times, replicated in neo-colonial structures, and fuelled by oil wealth that proved too great a temptation for those in power. Periodic attempts at reform were unsuccessful not because they were not occasionally well meant, but because there was no true ideological basis (which means a basis in empirical reality). The result has been that the ruling class of Nigeria has been irrelevant to the development of Nigeria. In the next chapter on structural adjustment programs, though. Irele deviates from Marx. He begins this chapter with a critique of the Marxian notion of false consciousness. 25 Essentially, he argues that the problem is that false consciousness assumes that there is a "true" or a "false" ideology. Irele would rather move toward a pragmatic social theory, which uses the critical techniques of historical Marxism but does not propose answers that simply follow the "true" Marxist ideology. It is a Marxism closer to Althusser than to Marx. Using this pragmatic Marxism, Irele argues that the SAP does not have as its aim an egalitarian society, for it does not place the needs of people as a central part of its logic. In reinforcing a capitalist mode of production, the only ones who would benefit would be the ruling class. The rest of the chapters in the book follow a similar analytic pattern. Ire Ie 's notion of practicality is at once analytic and empirical. While he uses Marxian analysis, he does not do so in a doctrinaire manner.

Peter Bodunrin [G]iven the matching, fitting and testing between a particular conviction and our theory, such a detailed and perspicuous understanding of the conviction, and other related conviction, gives us a partial test of our theory. Our theory will swing back and forth against our considered judgments, principles, moral theories and social theories in a dialectical manner until a unitary package is achieved that meets our hopes and aspirations as well as attain wide reflective equilibrium (11).

What of the possibility that philosophy might not be practical? There are certainly some African philosophers who would argue for this conclusion. Consider Peter Bodunrin's comment: I have even heard it said that philosophers must help with the necessary repairs . in the nation's morality. Many things are wrong with our country no doubt.

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However. abstract thinking has never improved the morality of a nation. We must not confuse the philosopher with the moralist or with the preacher. Where the churches and mosques fail, philosophers are most unlikely to succeed. In morality like in the rest of life practice comes before thcory.26

capture the range of articulated positions on the issue. We could look in other places for variations on the idea of practicality, if we are willing to extend the concept to being equivalent to "usefulness to a community." That would surely not be an adequate definition to some of the figures discussed above (one could hardly imagine Taban 10 Liyong as being very impressed with that), but it is worth recognizing that African philosophy has been useful in a variety of ways to specific communities. Clearly, for instance, Afrocentrism has served to articulate a history that fills in some gaps in modernist projects of the construction of identity. And, in another way, the first generation of post-independence leaders in Africa were very concerned about practicality, as their nations emerged from colonialism to imagine themselves anew. While the discussion of neo-colonialism within post-colonialism raises the question of how successful those first attempts were, thinkers such as Nkrumah, Senghor, Nyerere, Kaunda and others were very much engaged in the question of how to make specific insights about African culture and society viable, particularly in light of the failure of the colonial project that preceded them. And, more recently in South Africa, discussion over the meaning of ubuntu has, in part, been a question of the practicality of the concept within a changing society (that, of course, is not the only question one might ask about ubuntu, but as it has become adopted in a quasi-official manner, questions of implementation necessarily arise). So, we can see many instances in which philosophical insights have been played out in a social/cultural laboratory. One might argue that the mixed success of many of these suggests that trying to make philosophy practical will always be doomed to fail, since success is so difficult to recognize and measure. On the other hand, it may be that practicality in philosophy is not something that should be understood as measurable. This is the issue to which we now turn.

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In saying this, Bodunrin is not suggesting that philosophy is irrelevant to Africa, specifically to the social, economic, and political reorientation of. a society. His point is that philosophers are no different than ~ygne else, In that they are inclined to think that their methods hold the roluti~tI to problems of the world. Bodunrin, in suggesting that philosophy per se i~ not practical, is calling for humility on the part of his professional coll~fues. Not ?nly might it be the case that empirical rather than abstract solutIOns are required, it might also be that some problems are just intractable to any~ne's disciplinary methods. For these intractable problems, he suggests, th~! solution is not to remove the problem but to find ways of coping with it. T~e desire on part of philosophers to see their discipline as having practica\ utility~~tually stands in the way of the integrity of philosophy itself. "We mUst as philosophers, continue to defend the relevance of philosophy as a theoretical subject over and above any claims to practical utility" (14). What relevance might philosophy have, if not in solving or contributing to solutions in society? The notion of coping holds the key. Philosophical arguments tend to be perennial precisely because they deal with issues that have no methodological solution. Rather, philosophers, Bodunrin maintains, are the ones who continually reframe the questions and bring the ideals before society in new ways. "Philosophy as Pivot," from the title of his paper, refers to the function of philosophy as the point of orientation for other disciplines. The pi vot does not move in space, but rather simply turns, allowing other ~is­ ciplines to move. The pivot point is not one that particularly precedes actIOn, but interpretation and reflection. Indeed, action has to occur whether or not philosophical reflection does (11). Put another way, theory does not always precede action. Philosophy becomes relevant when there are problems, when ., "things go wrong." . . Those who do not believe that philosophy should be Judged by Its practlcahty are not saying that philosophy cannot be pmctical, or even should not be practical. They are saying that philosophy must be true to its own methods lather than to some other imperative. While (as Bodunrin thinks) philosophy might not have the capacity to be truly practical, since it is not primarily concerned with the empi.rical world, it may contribute by re-asking the questions that others may take for granted, and re-presenting and re-imagining the world. This survey of philosophers by no means exhausts the positions or examples that one might imagine when it comes to practicality, but it does

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PHILOSOPHICAL PRACTICE One way we might think about the question of practicality and philosophy is to think about the relationship between philosophy and its communities in Africa. What are philosophy's communities? To paraphrase Derrida, Africa's communities are, in part, those to whom philosophy owes its debts. But which debts might these be? Philosophy owes a debt to the society in which it finds itself. It is not only materially sustained by the institutions of these societies, it also finds its material for reflection in these communities. "African" philosophy, after all, has staked its claim on a set of material that has cultural significance. It does not

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exist in the realm of abstract universals (as if any philosophy could, but here we have specificity even in the name itself), There is at least the debt, then. that philosophy must "speak back" to the place that gave it voice. But this speaking back is itself a problematic enterpr~s~, liable to ~e .understood as opaque theorizing or worse, making trouble, If It does no~ ftt mto the agenda of those to whom it owes its debts. Philosophy relates to Its communities, and those communities may well have manifest or latent purposes for philosophy. Those that rule in the status quo want their theoris~s to ju~tify existing conditions, and those who want change also wan~ thejr ~heonsts. Both conservative and revolutionary philosophy, then, also gives eVidence of a debt and in this sense also must be seen as practical. I Phiiosophy's communities, of course, are mUltiple ,and ~methpes very, ~if­ ferent. African philosophy. for example, has not only Its national ~ommumttes, but its specifiC ethnic communities, its (pan)African community,i its universit~ community, and its international philosophical commun.ity. In e~~h of these It attempts to be a good citizen, to be worthy of membership, to pay ,Its debts. ~o. from the philosopher's point of view, practicality may be understoo(ias paymg one's debts to all one's communities. How might this be done? Philosophy's unique ability (as opposed to other disciplines) is to analyze and account for thought-lives, to develop and apply the conceptual tools that show the communities what they are like. Of course, other disciplines such as literature, politics, and so forth, do this in their own ways as well, and the description of philosophy is not meant to be exclusive. Philosophy us~s the tools of other disciplines in its analysis, just as they use the tools of philosophy in theirs. Even those aspects of Western philosophy th~t pretend to, be culture-free (that is, not reflecting on the concerns of a speCific communtty) are in fact developing the reflective tools that various communities use to reflect on themselves. The most abstract logician in the West is, to that extent, : doing "Western philosophy" in that he or she is showing ~o~h a certai~ set of . reflective possibilities that in tum makes the culture what It IS. That logiC may well form the basis of computer science, for instance, which gives the culture a particular self-understanding. . . .' . In Africa, philosophy develops tools that, exphcltly or Imph~ltly, allow a culture to show itself for what it is and, as importantly, allow It to create new concepts adequate to its circumstances. Explicitly, African philosophers argue about issues of African identity, the relationship between tradition and modernity, the relationship between philosophy and African languages, an? . so forth. Implicitly, African philosophers go about their research, wh~ther it is in metaphysics, logic, social theory, or whatever, and as they do thel~ work they pay their debts to their communities by giving it conceptual VOIce, by showing forth a certain set of possibilities.

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It might seem strange to philosophers that they should attend to their communit.ies. What could this mean? Attending to the community means paying attentIOn both to the source of one's philosophical ideas, as well as their audience, use and results. In many cases, philosophers have been oblivious to both. They have imagined that their ideas came fully formed to them, and are solely the result of their philosophical training and conversations. As well, they have assumed a sharp distinction, akin to the attitude of some scientists between the production of knowledge and its use or application. 5cientist~ have long deferred responsibility to the politicians and technologists, arguing that they are simply in a pure pursuit of knowledge and it is the unscrupulous political forces that think of evil uses for their neutral discoveries. Philosophers, as well, seem to have had a similar benign view of their own products. At b st, they reason that their work is so abstruse that only other philosophers are hkely to read it, and at worst it is just a working out of an idea. Ideas do not have moral implications, so the reasoning goes, only actions do, and so again it is the unscrupulous in the world who press philosophy into service for oppression. African philosophers, more than any, know how much nonsense this is. Philosophy in the West has been anything but benign, and has been used to marginalize and oppress Africans for centuries. So, practicality means attending to one's communities. But, as has already been pointed out, there are many communities. African philosophy is a member not only of specific ethnicities (e.g., Luo, Asante) and genders, but various nationalities, as well as the profession of philosophy itself. Not only that, but African philosophy exists at a particular time with a particular set of traditions, both textual and oral, both acknowledged and unacknowledged. This seems like an enormous burden. Can one really pay one's debts to all these things? The mistake is in thinking of this only as a burden. This is not simply guilt. Responsibility to a community means engaging with that community to come to self-understanding. Philosophy is not the mirror of nature, it is the kaleidoscope of society, showing its possibilities and contingencies. Yet, it is not just a reflection, either of a single image or of multiple images. Philosophy's practicality lies not only in showing society for what it is, and what it can be. This is what I am calling philosophical practice. One example of this is Odera Oruka's notion of sage philosophy. Recall his "four missions": if they are taken together, they point to a sense that philosophy is always already part of a community. It cannot avoid the productive aspects of that community, but that is not all that the community is about. Philosophy does not simply reflect and represent the community, but it also critiques it. However, it is always rooted in the community it is critiquing. It cannot assume a "bird's eye view" and thus absolve itself from the implica-

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tions of its own critique. While Oruka did not explicitly take all the implications of this to their full extent, it means that philosophy, in critiquing the institutions of society, must recognize that it itself is an institution of society, imbedded in another institution (the university), and is therefore implicated in the critique. There is no "us-them." This is what I take the significance of the four missions to be. Sage philosophy becomes of special interest here. Oruka's intuition that sages might have something interesting to say is significant, not,just to prove that there was philosophy in traditional Africa. That may have; ~en the explicit initial reason for the project, but if we grant that. tha~ pomt h~s been made, we become free to see other aspects. More interestmg IS fhe notion that there is a connection between the work of philosophers and thought that exists outside the philosophical world. There is a sense that tit sages are responsible to a community even in diverging from commonly hfld belief. They recognize that the future of the community may have to be s~tured ~hrough a critique of the past or the present. Identifying that there are phll?sophlcal sages who do precisely this, is not so much a matter of identifying a group of people who intuited a philosophical method and used it outside of the influence of any other philosophers. It is recognizing that some sages see past the common conviction that the maintenance of a community lies in recollecting its past, and instead try to imagine its future as a partial negation of the present. Sage philosophy, then, can be seen as an exercise in true practi~a1 philosophy on at least two levels. First, the project re~o~~i.zes the c?nneChOn betw~en thought and the community, and the responsIbIlItIes that he on both partI.es. The sage, in thinking critically, is thinking of the betterment ~f the ~ommumty. The community, in recognizing and "licensing" the sage, IS takmg to heart the notion that the health of the community may lie in dissent rather than universal agreement. Second, the project is practical in that the "prof:ssional" philosophers are attending to the communities outside of the academIc ,,:,orld, and helping to develop the thought of the sages. Done well, the thought IS not , simply recorded, but subjected to another level of critique. . .' Now, one might object that this still does not look much lIke practIcahty, because it does not offer any concrete solutions to socially recognized problems. It does not advocate specific action, and indeed may be inferior to some of the versions of practical philosophy rejected earlier in that it does not even give a way of judging actions as better or worse. Let me suggest an example. In an essay called "Tradition and Modernity ~n the Scra~ble"for ~fri~a:"27 Oruka advocates a position he called "progressIve modermsm. WhIle It IS a position worked out more through example than analysis, it. does suggest a way of attending to the community that is more than speculatIOn. At first,. the position seems ad hoc-take a little tradition where it is useful, take a httle

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modernity where it is useful. The principle that takes it beyond this he calls "welfare rationalism," which leaves the possibility open that the thinker attends to the community, both sympathetically and critically, and determines action by reflection on the particular. This particular is not only circumstantial, but also historical. Thus, he is not advocating mere naive pragmatism. It is rather recognition that truly practical philosophy must take into account the lived circumstances of the people, in their history as well as their aspirations, and shape action according to that. Practicality thus avoids arid principles as well as ad hoc opportunism or mere reaction. In the end, philosophy's practicality in Africa will only be evident in its accomplishments. And, as anywhere, philosophy will always fight an uphill battle against those who would only define success in terms of material enrichment or supporting the status quo. Perhaps the greatest practical outcome of philosophy's activities is to enable people to re-imagine their world, to recover what is important while addressing current problems. Philosophy will not single-handedly solve Africa's, or anyone else's problems. It will not train doctors to do medicine- but it may help those doctors to imagine new ways of doing medicine by showing that doctor new ways of relating to, and being responsible to, his or her communities. Philosophy will not win wars (despite a history of philosophers' engagement in nationalistic, political, and military causes), but it may contribute toward understanding the real reasons for the wars, as well as recognizing the shifting relationships between the self-understanding of people caught up in the wars. Philosophy may not supplant social-science accounts of current situations, but it may help make social science self-reflective, and add possibilities that existing methodologies tend to leave out. There is, therefore, a practical role for philosophy, through philosophical ~ractice. Philosophy must be responsible to its disciplinary communities, ItS geographical communities, and its various intellectual communities. The more it is able to understand the real contingent roots of our thought about the world, while at the same time working toward the transitory universal to which all philosophers strive, the more that philosophy will be able to make a lasting and constructive difference in the world.

NOTES I. Although in the case of relevance, one might argue that we could be referring to practice rather than practicality, that is, to the origin of the philosophy rather than its application. Statements such as Gbadegesin's could be taken this way: "} am convinced of the reasonableness of the belief that, if philosophy as an academic

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discipline is to mean anything to Africa in the present situation of its existenc~, it h~s to be made relevant to the realities that confront Africans." Segun Gbadegesm, AfrIcan Philosophy: Traditional Yoruba Philosophy and Contemporary African.Re~lities (New York and Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang, 1991). In ?ther words, th~ applicatl?n of philosophy is only possible when it is able to attend to Its source, the lived expenence of Africans. 2. The collection of African philosophers who argue for or assume practicality a~ a goal or virtue is very long. One more example: "Why should a group of pra.ctitioners take to a profession whose proper status is in dispute? Part of the answer ../ IS that the controversy over African philosophy is mainly a response to the. creed pf releva~ce in modern Africa .... The African philosopher is thus called, as It were, to establish the utility of his discipline in the African context. Undoubtedly, suc~ a demand is legitimate and African philosophers have responded to it in varying 4irections" (G. I Sogolo, Foundations of African Philosophy: xi). 3. Paulin Hountondji, "Philosophy and its Revolutions" in Africft.n Philosophy: Myth and Reality, 2nd Edition (Bloomington: Indiana Universit~ Press, 1996): 71-107,esp.71. I 4. Hountondji, African Philosophy: Myth and Reality, 74. 5. Hountondji, African Philosophy: Myth and Reality, 81. " 6. Hountondji, African Philosophy: Myth and Reality, 98. ' 7. Taban 10 Liyong "Interview with Peter Darling: Breaking the Shackles Q(Old Ideas" in Another Last Word (Nairobi, Kenya: Heinemann Kenya, 1990): 144. 8. K. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 16ff. 9. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 19-24. 10. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 203. II. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 215. 12. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 203. 13. Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity, 210. 14. H. Odera Oruka, Practical Philosophy: In Search of an Ethical Millimum (Nairobi, Kenya: East African Educational Publishers, 1997): xi. . 15. H. Odera Oruka, "Achievements of Philosophy and One Current Practical Necessity for Mankind: The Question of the Present and Future of Humanity" in Practical Philosophy, 94-105. 16. "Philosophers need to be concerned with the elimination of world poverty because it is a practical necessity, but also because it is within the moral mission of their profession." Oruka, "Achievements of Philosophy," 102. 17. See, for example, Oruka's definition of practical philosophy in the Otieno burial case ("The S. M. Otieno burial saga" in Sage Philosophy, 67-83, esp. 72):

18. Ngugi wa Thiong'o, "The Universality of Local Knowledge" in Moving the Centre: The Struggle for Cultural Freedoms (Nairobi, Kenya: East Africa Educational Publishers, 1993): 26. 19. Taban 10 Liyong "My Writing and My Reviewer" in Another Last Word, 23. 20. "Philosophical practice" is a term adopted by various philosophers from around the world to designate a specific program of application of philosophy to personal issues. It is related to philosophical counseling. This is not how I am using the term here. 21. Oladipo Irele, In the Tracks of African Predicament: Philosophy and Contemporary Socio-Economic and Political Problems of Africa (Ibadan, Nigeria: Options Book and Information Service, 1993). 22. Irele, "Philosophy and the African Condition: A Programmatic Dictum" in In the Tracks of African Predicament, 6-7. 23. Irele, III the Tracks of African Predicament, 9. 24. Irele, In the Tracks of African Predicament, 10. 25. Irele,ln the Tracks of African Predicament, 38-41. 26. Peter Bo<;tunrin, "Philosophy as Pivot in Economic, Social and Political ReOrientation" in Im6doye: A Journal of Africall Philosophy I, no. I (1990): 12. 27. H. Odera Oruka, "Tradition and Modernity in the Scramble for Africa" in Practical Philosophy, 255-263.

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Khaminwa: What is practical philosophy? Oruka: It is philosophy as applied to the immediate social issues of human life. It covers morals, law, religion and culture in general. Listing religion as one of the immediate social issues of human life i.s a direc~ result of a challenge to Oruka's credibility by Khaminwa, the lawyer for Otleno's Widow.

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Locating African Philosophy

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This book has had as its goal to rethink several central concepts within African philosophy. The argument has been that these concepts have largely been used to support spatial philosophy, that is, the tendency to regard philosophy as establishing and defending an intellectual territory. Each concept has been shown to be inadequate to that task. and thus, the project of guaranteeing that African philosophy is both truly African and truly philosophical cannot be accomplished in this way. There may, of course, be other concepts that one might want to offer in place of those considered already, but in fact I think that the problem is in the nature of the central question we ask about African philosophy, and the task that we are asking concepts to perform. We have asked African philosophy to answer the question "Is there an African philosophy?". a spatial question requiring the identification and defense of territory. If, however, we ask "What is it to do philosophy in this place?", a platial question, the ground shifts from the defense of territory to the explication of place, that is, the consideration of the relationship between concepts and the places that give them life, produce them, and refine them. Concepts then are not used to guarantee anything, but rather are used creatively, to produce new concepts through asking new questions. What we find is that the construction of place exists reciprocally with the construction of African philosophy. That is, we do not get straight what we mean by place first, and then see whether the concepts within African philosophy can be considered platially rather than simply spatially. The preceding chapters on central concepts in African philosophy were not just meant to undermine the spatial use of those concepts. In each case, new 4uestions were posed. Those questions came in part from the platiality of African philosophy. To ask, for instance, about reason from an African context 213

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is not to ask whether Africans have it or not (that is an old spatial philosophy question), but it is to ask how that concept is fonned and deployed in the thought-life that has currency in Africa. Of course, this formulation begs many questions-what counts as Africa, who gets to say what the concept is, how do we deal with the intercultural influences that have ranged from benign to brutal throughout history? And, a "new" question is not necessarily a question that has never been posed before in any other thought-life. To ask new questions about any of these concepts means to generate questions that refer back to the discourse and conditions within a place, rather tha~ trying to use "universal" philosophical questions that force concepts a\'fay from the concerns of a place. So, for instance, instead of asking what ap African theory of personhood is like, or an African theory of ethics (thus presupposing existing, "placeless" theories of personhood or ethics, of whi~ African theories would be a variation or a flavor), we start with the questiops that the concepts are meant to answer, and do not mistake words for conce~s, ~hat is, do not suppose that just because people use the same word they ar~ usmg the same concept. The goal is not to produce an African version of the ~ame kind of philosophy that occurs in the West, or for that matter to engage\ in "intercultural philosophy," which usually operates with similar assumpti~ns about the abstract, a priori nature of philosophical categories. The goal, rather, is to consider the concepts that have currency in a place, become clear on their meaning by both investigating their provenance and comparing thent ~ith concepts in other thought-lives, and ultimately to suggest new concepts tR~t advance the concerns of a place and enable those who care about that place to have a clearer sense of their own world. So, what were these new questions? In the chapter on tradition, instead of using tradition as a guarantee of the African-ness of African philosophy, we asked how tradition is transmitted, and how that transmission is a philosophical issue. We asked what is repeated in tradition. We asked whether tradition can be a disruption rather than a continuity. We asked whether tradition can be a mode of thought (one that dealt in peripherality) rather than an object of thought. The chapter on reason raised a host of questions, meant to get past the debate over whether reason in Africa is the same as elsewhere in the world or is different in some important way. The questions that were raised also moved past the various attempts to define the territory of African philosophy by constructing taxonomies, to, in other words, rationalize the activity through structure. The new questions included the following: What is the goal of reason? How do we demarcate reason from other human activities? How are the uses or versions of reason linked? Are reason and order necessarily linked? Where does reason find its proper place? Has reason developed differently in different places? Is particularism in connection with reason equivalent to

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relativism (this was the discussion of generative rationality)? Are reason and philosophy co-extensive terms? Is reason reducible to method? The chapter on wisdom was meant to specifically consider the sage philosophy project. The conclusion was that sage philosophy in itself did not accomplish the task of guaranteeing true African-ness or true philosophi~al-ness. However, three concepts that are central to sage philosophy raise mteresting questions for African philosophy, and point to an important role for sage philosophy. The first of these concepts was wisdom. Considering the place of wisdom in African philosophy raises a number of significant questions: Does a wise statement get its wisdom from the character of the person uttering it? Would a particular statement be wise no matter who said it, or is it considered wise because this particular person said it? What of the statement that seems foolish on the surface, but turns out to be wise? Do we have to be wise ourselves, to recognize wise statements? Can a statement not be both commonplace and wise? Does wisdom necessarily indicate profundity, esoterism, or some other special form of thought? To what extent is wisdom coextensive with practicality (the wise person is the one who says things that tum out to have use-value); to what extent does it illuminate a tradition (giving people a new way of understanding old things); to what extent is it related to political savvy, judicial judgment (e.g., Solomon), or speCUlative ability (e.g., the pre-Socratics)? Is it possible to be objective about somethjng as culture-bound as wisdom? Is this not instead an example of intersubjectivity, and therefore identifying wisdom is more a process of explicating shared meanings in a community, rather than identifying an essence? The other two concepts considered in the chapter on wisdom were critique and conversation or dialogue. In both of these concepts. new questions also arose. In the case of critique: Can other models for critique apart from divergence be found? Is creativity present? Do the sages test the boundaries of ideas? Is there rootedness that can be distinguished from simply relying on common understanding? And in the case of conversation or dialogue: What would vulnerability look like? Can philosophy be done in interview format? What is dialogue for, philosophically, and does that philosophical use differ depending on the place which one inhabits? The chapter on culture undermined the idea that cultures are pure, but even with that, questions still remain. What work does the myth of cultural purity do, and what does belief in this preclude? Can there be cultural universals while maintaining philosophy-in-place? How do cultures form the basis for the transfer of concepts? Why are universals not necessary for this transfer? Can the concept of the universal be recovered in philosophy-in-place? The chapter on language addressed the idea, present since at least Kagame, that African languages can undergird African philosophy. As with all the

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other concepts, this chapter argued both that the concept cannot accomplish what it is meant to do, under the program of spatial philosophy, but that nevertheless there are important and creative aspects of the concept that are essential to African philosophy. Many questions were raised in t~is chapter. The first part dealt with the relationship between language and phIloso~hy at a structural level, and several questions were suggested. Does language Imply a philosophy'? Is language the gateway to ontology? Can philo~~phy uncover that ontology by analyzing language? Can translation be a pos.ltlve means. of uncovering and constructing African philosophy. rather than Just a negative fact of the imposition of colonialism? The second half of the chapter dealt with the question of one "artifact" of language. the proverb. This section argued that proverbs can be the occasion for philosophy. but not the basis for philosophy. ~s always, many questions were suggested. Why do some proverbs. contInue to have currency, and others not? Given that proverbs are ambiguous for a number ,of reasons what do the choices about interpretation say about the commumty that is ~ressing them into service'? In what ways do proverbs aid in a community coming to its self-reflective understanding? Is there a change over time in proverbs that have currency? Can any of this be related to changes in senses of identity within a group'? Given that many proverbs have to do with practical action, how do these proverbs as texts aid in that action, both theoretically (as justification) and practically (as motivation)'? Proverbs might be seen by some as rote repetition of past wisdom (the same way that tradition is often regarded). and therefore resistant to philosophy. In w?at . ways do these "traditional" elements of culture enable. rather than reSist, self-reflection? . Finally, the chapter on practicality addressed one "'.ides~read concept l~ African philosophy, that for philosophy to be truly Afncan It must be ap~h- . cable to African problems and needs. Again, the concept was found wantmg as a guarantee of the Africanity of African philo~ophy,.but wa~ found to be . central as a concept that must be theorized withm Afncan philosophy. The questions in this chapter came in the form of distinctio~s. What is. the di~er­ ence between practical philosophy, philosophy of practice, and phllo~ophlc~l practice? What is the difference between applied philosophy, practical philosophy, and creative philosophy? It is important to recognize that the mission of this book has not been to answer all these new questions. In fact, they need to be answered by those who are rooted in the place. And, more importantly, the questions themsel~es have to be critiqued by those rooted in place. I have posed them as emerging from a kind of negative project. that is, to show how the concept~ are not adequate to undergird spatial philosophy. That is their provenance. tied to the attempt

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to clarify the project of African philosophy at a fairly abstract level. But for these concept.s ,'0 become truly creative, the questions that engender them will have to be cntlqued and rethought by those who inhabit other thought-lives. Some of these questions will change as the concepts are transplanted into new thought-lives-that is to be expected. My. purpose at this point is somewhat different than what I hope others will use thiS book for. I hope that others will take this book as a call to identify the place of concepts. and to create new concepts appropriate to the place, which can then also serve to transform the place. I, however, would like to turn back to the schematic sense of place offered in the introduction. Now that we have worked through a set of concepts, I am interested in developing a fuller sense of place, informed by a philosophy-in-place as outlined in this book to this point. This book began with an outline of central questions about place. We then ~r~ce~ded to rethink a series of concepts as platial rather than spatial. Now It IS tIme to put these two together. How is it that the concepts that are centr~1 to African philosophy not only can be thought platially. but they also contnbute to a renewed and more robust understanding of place'? We will not map the concepts considered throughout the book directly onto the modalities of place listed in the first chapter, or map those modalities directly onto the concepts-the relationship is more complex. But what we will find is that in the process of considering the concepts. we can imagine a fuller sense of p~ace, and at the same time generate the possibility of new concepts. We begm, as always, with questions.

THE PLACE OF QUESTIONS "Questioning builds a way." -Heidegger, The Question Concerning Technology

The best way to understand this is to see philosophy as the response to a or s~t of questions. I have already suggested that the core question of Afncan phIlosophy should shift, from the spatial question "What is African philosophy'?" to the platial question, "What is it to do philosophy in this placeT' To understand the significance of this shift, it is necessary to think about philosophical questions for a moment. I One way to understand various traditions in philosophy is to see them as answers to hi~torically contingent questions. German philosophy, for example, has no essential core (there are no specific claims or concepts that all German ~hilosophers m~st hold in order to be considered German philosophers), but It does have a history of disciplined dialogue. This conversation centers on a

questi~n

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set of texts, but more basically, it is driven by a set of questions. There may be as many discontinuities as continuities in that history of qu:stioning -~~r­ man philosophy as practiced today arguably resembles AmerIcan and Bntlsh philosophy from earlier in the twentieth century more than it does German philosophy from that time, and "continental" p~ilosophy h~~dly incJud:d everyone living on the European continent. As dIfferent tradItIons come In contact with each other (and these traditions need not be identified ethnically or nationaJl y, but that is a handy example for the moment), the questions that are live in one culture must be translated into the other. More often than not, the translation is imperfect or incomplete. Even more likely, the translation is not understood as the translation of questions at all, but as the translation of concepts, positions, or beliefs. If the issue of the question is raised at all it is seen as more or less self evident. We imagine that various cultures have a position on whether we have souls or not, or whether the ~niverse is essentially one, or on what constitutes the good. However, despIte the fact that each of these positions may seem like the answer ~o the same question C~D.o we as humans have souls?", "Is the universe essentIally one?, and sO on), It IS more likely that the questions being asked are quite different, since they have a different position in a web of cultural beliefs and assumptions. Concepts. positions and beliefs are really just answers to these historically contingent, but nevertheless crucial questions. So, it does make sense to talk about German philosophy or American philosophy, even though there is nothing essential or intrinsic that makes German philosophy German (despite what Hegel or Heidegger may have thought), or that makes American philosophy American. The ke~ is to think about the motivating questions to which texts respond. The questIons are platial, that is, they are contingent but "viscous," that is, they are both fluid and persistent. It is rare, though, that much time is spent on the dialogical effort of determining whether questions are the same, and how one's own questions might contain limitations and blind spots. It is worth noting that these comments about questions apply not only to . philosophy, but also to interdisciplinary research. Much interdisciplinarity is founded on the idea that various disciplines have their strengths, and they all need to bring those strengths to the task of solving a problem. So, for example, we might suppose that environmental degradation is a problem which many disciplines have a stake in, and each discipline (biology, geography. sociology, political science, etc.) will bring its own expertise to the solution of the problem of environmental degradation. The problem with this is that • each discipline defines the problem in its own terms, using its own methods as guidelines, and in so doing essentially asks a different question f~om the others. Each then brings its own question to the table, and these questions are

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rarely allowed to interact. True interdisciplinarity would be a focus on the questions, and the constructive ability to bring new questions out of the old ones through a process of disciplinary interaction. This is what I am suggesting must happen in philosophy, and it is why questions are so important African philosophy has, by and large, not thought carefully enough about its own questions, but has allowed its questions to be defined by a skeptical and dismissive West. African philosophy has the potential to rethink its own questions, and at the same time initiate a conversation both with the West and with other philosophical traditions, to hone and clarify its questions. The goal of African philosophy should be to generate and create new questions, which will make possible new concepts. The only way this can be done is to recognize the questions that exist, and to put them in conversation with other questions, to show their strengths and limitations. There is another reason why questions are important, and it has to do with the structure of disciplines themselves. We tend to think of disciplinarity as defined by objects of study-psychology studies behavior, biology studies the processes of life, literature studies texts, and so forth. However, I would like to argue that these are only derivatively features of disciplines. Disciplines are not ultimately defined by their object of study, or for that matter their practitioners, their texts, or their concepts. They are defined by their questions. There are no essentially philosophical texts, for example. Kant's Critique of Pure Reason is not essentially philosophical, but it becomes philosophical as we ask philosophical questions of it, and as the responses to those questions assemble a history of dialogue in which the text as interrogated philosophically is central. One could just as well ask sociological questions about this text, or political ones, in which case the text would fit into an assembly called sociology or political studies. Of course, texts are more amenable to some kinds of questions than others (by which I mean that it is easier to imagine some kinds of questions in relation to particular texts than others), but the point is that the object of study or those who study it do not define the discipline. Only the questions define the discipline. Questions come from places. They are not transcendental, but rather are rooted in ways of reflectively existing that occur throughout the world. In this sense, viable and stable populations must have some level of philosophy. [do not wish to equate world-views with philosophy -simply having beliefs about the world does not mean that a philosophy exists. To this extent, Hountondji's position on ethnophilosophy makes an important point. What has been missed in the critique of ethnophilosophy, however, is that stable cultures will have reflective ways of dealing with their existence. They answer a set of questions successfully. Some of those answers are purely pragmatic, but some have to do with the meaning of existence, ways of understanding

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the world and each other, and ways of successfully living together. Many of those answers (as Odera Oruka attempted to show in his work with the sages) exhibit critical capacity. Members of cultures test the answers to the questions, not simply pragmatically but also intellectually. So, it is worth our while to think about what makes a philosophical question. Not all questions that can be asked are philosophical ones. And, not all philosophers agree on what counts as a philosophical question. One way of distinguishing between pre-Kantian European philosophy, Anglo-American analytic philosophy and post-Kantian European philosophy, for instance, is i to recognize that the first would identify a truly philosophical question as one which strives for a universal, the second would see a truly philosophical question as one which aims to clarify language, and the third would define a philosophical question as one which shows forth the potential and the aporias of a life-world. Are these questions mutually exclusive? I do not think so, but the fact that the motivating question of an area is so fractured means that philosophy is a task rather than an assumption. And we could extend this analysis further. What happens when philosophy comes into contact with other disciplines? Questions in literature, for example, or in politics are not the same as questions in philosophy. Working at the edges of different kinds of questions does not necessarily dilute those questions. Such work can strengthen them. There was a time when it was fashionable to reduce philosophy to some other discipline. One might argue that philosophy is always textual (at least if texts are understood broadly), so philosophy is nothing but textual studies. Philosophy is always imbedded in a social world, usually one which has unequal relationships, so philosophy is nothing but power. These reductions are simply the refusal to do the hard work of allowing questions to encounter each other. Philosophy is certainly implicated by its textuality or the social relationships in which it exists-does . that mean it is reducible to them, or does it mean that its traditional mode of posing questions has limits that become apparent in the contested area between disciplines? Reductionism is the easy way out, and ultimately the way that will not produce either new questions or new concepts. So, different traditions in philosophy differ on what counts as a philo-. sophical question. We could take this further. We could see fundamental . differences between English, French, and German approaches to philosophy. We could see differences between American and Canadian approaches, and between Kenyan and Ghanaian approaches. These are generalizations, to be sure, and they are not meant to establish that there is some essential core to these approaches. There is nothing of that sort. But, there is a history of addressing different questions. Students are brought up to recognize the questions of their tradition as important. They approach other traditions by

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translating them into recognizable, if imprecise, terms and questions. Philosophical traditions have places because questions have places, and the more we are able to recognize them as coming from places, the more we will be able to put them in constructive conversation, and generate new questions, and new concepts. One good example of taking questions and place seriously comes not from African or Western philosophy, but from Japanese. Watsuji Tetsuro's best known work is FUdo ningen-gakuteki k/)satsu, translated into English as Climate and C~lture.2 Originally written based on lectures given in 1928, shortly af~er WatsuJI returned from studying in Germany as a young scholar, the work mIght superficially seem as a Heideggerian analysis of Japanese culture. In fact, ~atsuji. critiques Heidegger, regarding him as having given too much attentIOn to hme and not enough to space in his account of human existence. What is notable is that Watsuji's work not only critiques Heidegger, but does so by beginning with a simple, and counterintuitive question: "what I am here concerned with is whether the climate we experience in daily life is to be regarded as a natural phenomenon" (I). We might be inclined to answer that of course it is natural, what else could it be? And yet, his point is different. By "climate" he means both weather as well as all contextualizing social feature~ ?f human existence. It looks like he might be advocating a form of determllllsm when he analyzes "three types" of climate, monsoon, desert, and m~a~ow, and places Japan and China in the "monsoon" type of climate. WatsuJI IS not, however, a geographical/psychological determinist. He is not sugg~sting that climate produces particular cultural or personality types. " It IS not a~parent at the beginning of his study, but his real question is What does It mean to be Japanese?" He means that as a philosophical question, not a political or social one. His analysis of contextualized human existence-existence in climate-begins from a Japanese experience of the world, even though it uses Heidegger as one of its inspirations. . A m~re direct ex~~ple, again using Heidegger, is in Arto Haapala's analySIS of dIfferent tradlttons' treatments of Heidegger 's "The Origin of the Work ~f Art."3 ~aap~l~ makes the case that philosophical traditions (located plattal.lY and ImgUlstlcally) have differed on their understanding of the context of Heldegger's work, and thus asked different questions of the text. He focuses on two of these traditions, what he terms the "orthodox" and the "applicative ~ragm~tist" approach, roughly equivalent to the German approach (Friednch-Wllhelm von Herrman, Joseph Kockelmans) and the American approach (Hu~rt Dreyfus, Don Ihde). The first emphasizes the internal analytics of the pIece, and tends to assume that the point of understanding Heidegger is to ~nderstand his logic. Questions concerning the well-known "peasant's shoes" m Van Gogh's painting are dismissed, and the focus remains solidly on art.

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The second, on the other hand, shifts the focus of the piece from art to any culturally significant object. Haapala concludes that

litical Point of View (the Example of an International Institution)" Sutjaces IV (1994).

It]hese two interpreted strategies are not exclusive but they exemplify different philosophical attitudes, different conceptions of what philosophy is. These philosophical attitudes are embedded in national traditions of doing philosophy. The traditional ways of teaching and doing philosophy differ from country to country, and especially from one language to another (443).

In the introduction, I raised a series of questions which set the stage for the first ~art the book. I would like to revisit those questions, in order to further mvestl~ate philosophy-in-place. These questions come in no particular order (that IS, .they ?o not ~equentially build an argument), but together they suggest ways III which African philosophy might be rooted in place, and how that rootedness can lead to a creati ve philosophy.

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Importantly, he does not argue that one tradition got Heidegger right, and the other wrong; rather, his point is that both have their own questions (along with, to be sure, some misunderstandings), and those questions afford creative possibilities. He suggests that pragmatism differs from the German tradition because the American tradition "is the shorter tradition with less philosophical classics. The 'burden' of history is far lighter" (444). The tendency for traditions is to look inward: "The exegetic work never ends, and easily leads to a hermetic world with laws of its own" (446). My argument here is that, as such platial philosophical traditions are constructed, their encounters with each other can shed light on their own questions, and in that way allow a much more creative, higher order (although not more abstract) philosophy. It is noteworthy that the traffic across platial boundaries initially produces distinction and difference, sometimes quite profound. T. J. Diffey points out that the Kant of continental philosophy is not the same Kant as the one of Anglo-American analytic philosophy.4 Kant provides the answer to a set of questions posed in a particular place. However, there comes a time when those different "Kants" encounter each other again, like long-lost siblings. This is where philosophy begins, because there is both commonality (agreement on at least some aspects of Kant) and difference. How can this be negotiated? Kant provides one opening for conversation to occur. The differences in Kant are, as Collingwood suggests, differences in the questions we ask about Kant, and, as Heidegger suggests, also differences in the way that the texts of Kant interrogate us. Differences of interpretation are really windows into the differences about the places from which we come. Kant's texts, like any texts, make our places available to us. H is significant to note that the question is only half of the philosophical process. The other half is listening, and that will be taken up later.

QUESTIONING PLACE "In what place can a question take place?" Derrida, "Of the Humanities and the Philosophical Discipline. The Right to Philosophy from the Cosmopo-

0:

Question of the Topeme: The Legibility of African Philosophy Th~

question of the topeme is really a question of legible place. An -erne is a UllIt of the construction of meaningfulness. It is the element of pre-grammar, re-used to create words, and out of words sentences. Language is assembled from phonemes, word variants are assembled based on lexemes, and myths are ~~:mbled from "mythe~es." In each cas~, there is order, meaning, and legIbillty.that becomes pOSSible because atomic regularized units are available. Afncan philosophy is legible in part because there are continuing experience~, concerns, tools, and concepts that form the life of the field. A philo~ophlcal topeme becomes meaningful as it is reflected up, that is, as it enters mto a system of meaning that is tied to place-embodiment, context, provenan~e, and so forth. African philosophy has a place within the philosophical matnx, not because it has it by natural right or entitlement, but because a ~omm?n and shared language is spoken. The "country" of African philosophy m the mtellectual world-map is not a dark continent or a savage land and not a land of "barbarians" (those who sound to "civilized" ears like they' are saying "b~-bar"). It is meaningful as it finds topemes that can both be the site of analYSIS as well as the articulation of that analysis. Philosophers grammar always exists in two places, at both the level of the explication of life-worlds, and at a more abstract or formal level of concept manipulatio~. The asse~bly of concept manipUlation uses nothing but the topemes for Its constructIOn. Indeed, while philosophical analysis is co.nstructed from topemes. it is organized by topoi. This should be no surpr!se-any ~lace exists in several ways simultaneously. Henri Lefebvre made thiS ~lear- m accounting for the "production of space," he recognized that we su~ultaneous~y exi~t in perceived space, conceived space, and lived space. Percelv~ space IS baSically physical space as practiced: "the spatial practice ?f a s.oclet~ se:retes that society's space; it propounds and presupposes it, m a dla:ectlc~l••mteraction; i~ produces it slowly and surely as it masters and appropnates It (38). Conceived space deals with conceptual representations I

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of space: "Conceptualized space, the space of scientists, planners, urbanists technocratic subdividers and social engineers, as of a certain type of arti~t with a scientific bent-all of whom identify what is lived and what is perceived with what is conceived" (38). And lived space is representational space: "Space as directly lived through its associated images and symbols" (39). These three form a "trialectic" for him. In other words, the three do not exist in a linear hierarchy, in which the last is a more fully realized version of the first two. Rather, all three are always needed, always present. The problem comes when we do not realize that they are all present, when we think that place is just lived, or just thought. African philosophy has had the tendency to exist in one of the first two modes. It has either been located in a set of practices (and then, philosophy ends up being the description of those practices) or it has been located at the abstract level (and then, the universalizing logic is emphasized, at the expense of the place itself). My argument is that the third location has been l~rgely ignored, and with it the recognition that African philosophy i~ produ~ed I~ t~e relationship between its ground and its thought, and that this relatIOnship IS something apart from either of those. As with Lefebvre's production of space, we produce African philosophy. We do not just discover it, nor do we just import it by using abstract tools that never recognize their roots. . These are the elements of the topeme. African philosophy becomes legible as it finds its place.

I

I

Question of Aggregation: African/a Philosophy Aggregation concerns the ways in which the combinations and fissures of aspects of African philosophy become productive or problematic. We have already seen that the very term "African philosophy" is itself an aggregate (no less than "Western philosophy"), an assembly of components brought together for various reasons. But the question of aggregation becomes even more interesting with a recent variation, coined by Lucius Outlaw, meant to bring diasporic philosophy together under one umbrella term: Africanla phi- . losophy. Uniting these various strands, some of them relatively well worked out and some in their infancy, serves to bridge a collection of issues over I these traditions and create a kind of solidarity for those in the African diaspora and on the continent. Since African philosophy has always been viewed with suspicion by the mainstream of philosophy (witness an exchange between Outlaw and Michael RothS), bringing together these streams has served to give a sense of solidarity and purpose. Now, it will be objected that this portrayal of African/a philosophy is too weak. After all, do these various streams not have more in common than

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merely having been rejected by mainstream European philosophy? Are they not related because all those involved can trace their ancestry back to Africa? Surely African/a philosophy must have a core, something that brings these traditions together while maintaining their specificity. In fact, there is no core. African/a philosophy, like African philosophy, is an aggregation. There are elements of common heritage, and a will by many to bring together philosophies of the continent and the diaspora. But the understandable and useful emphasis on similarities covers over the productive possibilities of difference. I would like to outline some of the differences in approach and concern between the traditions. My argument is not that we should not use the term "African/a," but rather that its use should be a task rather than an assumption, and one which (as I will discuss in a moment) needs to attend to the differences of intensities. 6 In the interests of space, I will focus on two traditions that come under the banner of African/a philosophy-African and African-American philosophy. The point here is not to suggest that one is better than the other, or more advanced, or more insightful. Rather, following on my argument that philosophy must attend to its place, I want to suggest ways in which the place of African and African American philosophy is very different, and that a constructive dialogue between the two rather than an identification under a larger umbrella is preferable. These observations are generalizations, and every generalization has its exceptions. I am interested in the overall life-world that a philosophy participates in, and the frame of reference it uses to generate its content. My interest, then, is in comparisons rather than pure categories, and in the actual practice rather than the possibilities of these traditions. It is significant to note that one of the core concerns of African philosophy, that of its own existence and nature, is hardly discussed at all in AfricanAmerican philosophy. Lucius Outlaw's article, already mentioned, is one of the few places where a defense of African-American philosophy can be found. In the anthologies and texts of African-American philosophy, one looks in vain for articles explicating the nature of African-American philosophy. In contrast, the question of the nature and existence of African philosophy has consumed those involved, to the extent that it is cornmon to hear pleas to stop arguing about the existence of African philosophy and start doing it. African philosophy has proposed and debated a series of "taxonomies" or ordering structures for African philosophy (see ch. 3). African-American philosophy has not, to my knowledge, been concerned about this kind of structuring or ordering activity at all. There is no equivalent to Oruka's "trends." The pivotal issue in the two traditions differs. In African philosophy, it is colonialism; in African-American philosophy, it is slavery. Both of these are instances of brutal oppression and marginalization (to say the least), but they

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are not the same experience, and they neither can be conflated nor theorized in the same manner. There are various senses of colonialism (e.g., direct vs. indirect rule), and various senses of slavery, but few of each come close to th.e other. To state the most obvious difference, colonialism left people on their own, albeit appropriated, soil. Slavery, at least in this case, took people away from their own soil. This had implications for language use, identity (even to the knowledge of names and ethnic affiliations), and a host of other thing~. The significance and construction of place is crucial to the formation of philosophy, and to try to think about a place as stolen is different from thinking about being stolen from a place. It brings up different metaphors, the first deeply historical (as one remembers the place as it was), the second spatial, as one contemplates migration and displacement. African philosophy must come to terms with a geographical place :which was taken, while African American philosophy must come to terms With the loss of geography, and the presence in a land that itself was occu~ied from those who already lived there. Interestingly. in both cases the relatton to the land has been that of alienation. Neither Africans nor African-Americans have received proper recognition in the making of the place in which they find themselves. Race is a central issue in African-American philosophy, while it is a comparatively smaller one in African philosophy. "African" in African-American philosophy points to a racial and historical heritage. "~fri.can".in th~ c~se of African philosophy does not necessarily point to a raclahzed Identity In the same way. While race may figure into both places, it is a different construction of race. if for no other reason than that in one case one has to construct race in ter~s of minority status, while in the other one must construct race in terms of majority but alienated and oppressed status. We could, of course, focus the topeme even more, and recognize the difference in the conceptualization of race between (for instance) Kenya and South Africa, or the US and the Caribbean. African philosophy tends to be more interested in metaphysic~ and epis~mology, while African-American philosophy tends to be more mterested m social philosophy and ethics. Of course, one can find exceptions to this generalization in both traditions, but this is a relative statement, not an absolute one. African philosophy is replete with references to and discussions of various forms of African essence and subjectivity, much of it in relative abstraction. African American philosophy, while it has its Existentia Africana (notice again the extension of the "Africana" term), tends to focus much more on issues of social justice and ethics. Even issues of identity (e.g., those produced by the "one-drop rule" and other means of categorizing races) have. largely been discussed as issues of social organization, rather than metaphYSICS.

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The term" African/a philosophy" is almost exclusively used by AfricanAmerican philosophers, not by African philosophers. Why is this? It may be that there is a strong impulse to identify ties of history further back than a few hundred years. Or more negatively, it might be because, as American philosophers, the impulse to make African-American experience determinative for the rest of the world, and to theorize experience as a unity rather than as a set of tensions (even as a triumphalist historical narrative), may be irresistible. In any case, the relationship to history seems very different between AfricanAmerican and African philosophy. When African American philosophy thinks about its own tradition, it turns to the anti-slavery work of the nineteenth century and the Harlem Renaissance. When African philosophy thinks about its own tradition it turns to a variety of cultural practices and features such as the words ~f sages, prov.erbs. tales, and so forth. This is not a statement on the different depth of hIstory between the two, but rather on the qualitative difference between the types of sources. Specifically, African philosophy has, at least in part, worked from anonymous and socially mediated sources. Paulin Hountondji famously argued against "ethnophilosophy" of this sort as being included as true philosophical thought. African American sources, on the other hand, are largely associated with specific individuals. There is less of a tendency to call cultural wisdom philosophy, perhaps because there are clear texts. So, the "ethnophilosophy" issue has not been the same point of discussion for African-American philosophers as it has for African philosophers. African-American philosophy is, in the end, every bit as much American as it, is African. Because of this, African-American philosophy has to negotiate a dIfferent set of specific conditions than African philosophy does. It exists in a country with a highly developed academic philosophical establishment. It exists in a country which claims its own philosophical character and traditions in~luding pragmati.s~, transcendenta1ism, and its own versions of ana1yti~ p~II~sophy and cnucal/cultural theory. Its provenance comes through the Civil War, Reconstruction, the Harlem Renaissance, the Civil Rights movement, and so forth. Its questions are set by that history, and its methods draw upon the conversations available, which necessarily include encounters with utilitarianism, pragmatism, and so forth. African philosophy, on the other hand, does not exist in this kind of context at all. Its provenance is different, such that even the use of the same terms can mean very different things. The two are by no means unrelated (note, for instance, the extent to which ~frican-Americans have contributed to African political philosophy), but the hIstory of questioning has significant differences which should not be lost. Despite the seeming unity of the "African/a" label, African-American ~hilosophy and African philosophy regard each other in very different ways.

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African-American philosophers tend to look at Africa as the motherland, for obvious historical reasons, but also due to racial continuity. African philosophers, on the other hand, tend not to see the same unity (or at least, tend not to write about it). This follows on the observation of the greater significance of race in African American philosophy. Put simply, at least some African philosophers seem to informally regard the push to unity as an essentially American attribute, not one based on racial similarity. At its worst, it can look like another version of colonization. The central question of philosophy must be asked anew in both these areas. That question is not "Does African (or African American) philosophy exist?" but rather, "What is it to do philosophy in this place?" Unlike African philosophy, African American philosophy does not so clearly have a platial designation. "African" refers to a geographical place, and the questions that arise tend to have to do with the scope, diversity, and multiple identities of that place. "How can we speak of an 'African' philosophy," people wonder, "when Africa itself is so diverse?" African-American, on the other hand, is more ambiguous on its platial reference. It is more likely to refer to the identity of a group of people or a culture (which is how the term is normally used) than to an identifiable place. There are good reasons for this-what geographical place, exactly, would we be referring to? "America" perhaps (itself a presumptive designation of place, as any Canadian will tell you), but that does not help, because that geographical place is so complex that African-American philosophy seems to gain little from just designating it as "the philosophy done by African-Americans in America." Place must mean something other than this. And in this, perhaps the answer for African-Americans is more difficult than it is for Africans, when it comes to constructing a philosophy. After all, Africans are located in a literal geographical place that, however much it has been reshaped and however much they have been alienated from it, is still the place of their ancestors. AfricanAmericans, on the other hand, are in a land which, for the most part, they were brought to against their will, for purposes they did not choose. Many died on the way, and many more died after arriving. Those who remained found themselves in a land which their labor built, but which has yet to acknowledge the extent of their role in making this a place. In other words, instead of constructing place in terms of an invader from the outside, place is constructed, at best, as a hybrid between old and new place. It is both a sojourn and a dwelling. When we sojourn, we tarry in a place, but it is not home. Old songs used to speak of the sojourn of the Israelites in a foreign land (Egypt, usually), which suggested that their real identity was elsewhere, tied to a place that some of them had never seen. That Biblical story of place and its memory was a powerful trope for those who recognized

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little of the place in which they found themselves. When we dwell, on the other hand, we are at home in a place. The place is one which is transparently meaningful. Pure dwelling, if it were possible, would not be a task. No matter where we are, we never dwell purely, nor do we ever sojourn completely. Living is always a task, yet life finds a way for those who survive. Philosophy is the explication of that tension between dwelling and sojourning. The contours of that are different for African philosophy than they are for African-American, no less real, but different. My contention is that culture is that kind of tension between dwelling and sojourning, that is, a meaningful set of practices for those who engage in them, but a task nonetheless. Philosophy which remains at the level of the analysis of abstractions or concepts does not access what is truly human, that is, the life which is lived. Now, the question is, how can (or how could) philosophy be platial in the African-American context? Differently, as I have said, from the African context. But that African context, if put in productive tension rather than subsumed under a totalizing heading such as "African/a," could shed light on the kind of place that produces African-American philosophy. Some of those tensions I have already outlined, although not explicitly in ternlS of place. But it is worth thinking of culture as a place, and more specifically, as the tension between dwelling and sojourning. Put in these terms, some of the priorities of African-American philosophy become more clear. Why is race more of an issue than it is in African philosophy? Because place itself is defined differently, and through place, culture and identity. Internally, African-Americans are not defined in terms of tribes or ethnic groups, nor are the more modern designations of a unique nation or class available, even though all of these things are of course also as true of African-Americans as anyone. But they do not provide unique identities. Race seems to, although as we all know it is as problematic as any system of identity formation, and probably more than most. Still, it is the identity of a sojourner Who has been forced to remain a sojourner, even after having been in the United States longer than many others who would claim it as a natural birthright. And yet. this is home, a dwelling place as surely as for anyone else here (only native Americans/First Nations people have a greater claim). What does it mean to dwell as African-American in this place? A great deal has been written about dwelling as African-American in this country, but relatively little of it has been philosophical (the exception is Lewis Gordon's Existentia Africanal). Thinking through the tensions and contrasts between diasporic and continental Africans can be creative by raising new questions. "African! an need not erase that process from view.

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Question of Scale: Internationalism How large is place? When do we say we have one place, and when do we have an assembly of places? Is this simply the who~e/parts p~oble~, so endemic to philosophy? One problem with starting wIth ~lace .10 phIlosophy, is that "place" is a malleable term. Specifically, we can Imagme place to be as close as our skin (perhaps closer), or as large as the entire e~h. But ~e are faced with the tension between space and place, at some pomt. ~hlCh comes first? Is place a subdivision of space or is space an aggregatIOn of place? With only these two options, a philosophy-in-place faces p.roble~s. Either we begin with space and deduce places (essentially, the umversahst position), or we first have places and then have to determine how they relate to each other. Both of these options lead to "internationalism" in p?il~sophy. In October of 1997, the journal Metaphilosophy published a ~peclaJ Issue on the question of internationalism in philosophy.!'! The issue mcluded papers about the place of geographically located philosophies, and the q~estion of wh~ther philosophy is able to absorb or account f~r locali~ P?I.losophy, and. If so, how. While some were skeptical about phllosoph~ s a~lhty to de~1 Wlt~ localization 9 others, while not interpreting internatIOnahsm as umversahsm, neverthel;ss assume that philosophy is international. sin~e it ca~~ot ~roperly consider nations at all (being individuals), and orgamzatIOnally It IS ncher for intellectual connections with similar minds than it is dealing with ot~ers ~ho happen to be born in the same nation.1O Some, on the other hand, mcludmg the only article in the issue on African philosophy, by Jay van Hook,1I came down on the side of localization. The guest editor, Richard Shuste~an, provi~ed a~ intr~ducti~n which draws upon some distinctions made In one of hIS earher articles. In both three models for understanding internationalism. l' 1 In d' the . pI aces,. he sets "orth first there is "an exemplary master-language or dominant cultura tra IlIon that'seeks to unite cultural diversity under its sovereign aegis in order to further the advancement of world thought." The second "~ries to accep~ and bridge between differences so as to a~hieve an i~ternatlOnal. ~ynt,hes.ls or collaborative dialogue where the integnty of the different traditIOns Will be preserved in the whole." And in the third, national and cultural differences need neither be overcome nor I?utually adjusted and respected. They can be sim!'ly dismiss:d as altogether lffelevan~. to what really matters in philosophy. For If we see philosophy as the pure ex~rclse of reason in the search for universal features and truths of h~man e~pene~ce, then all good philosophy should be international even when It and Its subject matter seem deeply rooted in specific cultural traditions. I]

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Shusterman's models simultaneously focus on difference. and the mode of overcoming difference. In the first, the mode of overcoming difference is a unified language; in the second, it is movement between limited particularities; in the third, it is the application of the appearance/reality distinction to argue that the differences (for philosophy's purposes) were never really there in the first place. Shusterman quickly (and rightly, I think) dismisses the third model as ignoring anything interesting that might be contained in the difference of traditions. What I have been calling philosophy-in-place is an elaboration on his second option, with more emphasis on the productive capacity of difference. This becomes more apparent as we think about internationalism as simply a single case in the question of scale in philosophy. The question of scale is related to the question of the tope me. What do we take as a "unit" of philosophical context? The term "internationalism" assumes that the unit is the nation, presumably constituted as a cultural or linguistic tradition as opposed to a political unit (that would be a state). In African philosophy, people often point out the vast number of nations that exist in any state, much less in the continent The positive implication of this is that African philosophy may be much richer than it seems; the negative implication is that "African" philosophy is an empty category, since the constituent parts may well be so different as to have little in common. In fact, playing off the parts and the whole in Africa as if it was analogous to the parts and the whole of world philosophy, obscures the fact that difference suffuses philosophy at any level. To what extent is any coherent philosophy a unity or identity, and to what extent is it an aggregation? And if an aggregation, what are its terms, that is, what is the topeme? This becomes a little like a lens, which has different focal lengths. We can choose to bring into focus some point on the scale, which necessarily renders points nearer and further as indistinct, as organized around the focal point. What is in focus takes on the illusion of the natural, as we come to believe there is something coherent in nature ahout it, while what is out of focus is clearly the result of mediation, as the indistinctness of our peripheral vision is not the same as the lack of focus of a lens (recall as well that peripheral vision is the metaphor I used earlier for tradition). "Internationalism" has the focal length set on the nation as the topeme, and then the "inter" part becomes the problem. But we could draw the focal length further in, to the urban areas instead of the nation, and then the assumed unity and that which needs to be questioned would change. And within a tradition, the topeme may become the region, with its local conferences and shared physical space, or the department, with its own influences, leaders, and traditions, or the individual, asserting and defending his or her claims. The nation then becomes indistinct, as philosophy takes on the character of individual assertion and critique, We might draw the focal length

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further in yet, to the utterance (some are philosophical. others are not), or much further out, to all humanity (this topeme is easier to imagine if we posit alien worlds and peoples). And this scale may not even be linear, attached to

But the mere fact that spatializing questions have the potential for even greater inequality does not mean that we can afford to ignore the political meaning of place in the construction of African philosophy. Several things must be noticed about politics and place in African philosophy: Existing conditions cannot be wished away. There are still political forces within ,the philosophical world which are not interested in acknowledging that phIlosophy could come from Africa at all, or that philosophy might mean anything other than it has always been uncritically taken to mean. This means that. while I have argued that African philosophy must begin by taking place rather than space seriously, and in doing so more or less ignore the challenges put to it by a dismissive discipline, it cannot afford to pretend that those challenges do not exist anymore or that they have been solved. Indeed, as I have tried to suggest, we cannot do away with spatial questions at all. My argument has been that we ought not to start with them, and that the generation of new concepts is a better response than an argument for entitlement. To use the term "African Philosophy" itself is a political act. What counts as African and as philosophical? Does the African diaspora count? To what extent does using the term "African" cover over more particular philosophical traditions? To what extent is it a creation (as Mudimbe has pointed out)'? All of these are questions of topeme and scale, covered earlier. And what is gained by using the term "philosophy"? Clearly the term has political force. It means something, and it has a standing in a university and in a culture. To make the claim that philosophy is done in Africa, therefore, is to make the political claim that the thought that comes from that place is not just a "worldvi~w" or.a "belief system." To ask the question "What is it to do philosophy in thIS (Afncan) place?" is to make a political claim, not to assume that politics is no longer an issue. The term is political in another sense. At a conference I attended a few years ago, a speaker inveighed against disciplinarity as an artifact of the past. The Foucauldian critique of discipline became a critique of discipline(s). As I listened, I wondered what this made of African philosophy. After years of telling Africans that they could have no philosophy, now that some in the West are grudgingly willing to admit that they can, we simultaneously argue that disciplinarity is passe. So, any hope of institutionalizing African philosophy as cutting-edge thought fades. It is, in other words, political to claim the name "African philosophy" in the face of current skepticism concerning the viability of disciplines. There is plenty of literature on place which recognizes the ways in which material places are politically inflected and constructed. Places are not benignly romantic or nostalgic things. They can be alienating or coercive. The same is true of the concept of place in philosophical settings. Asking the

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literal geographical size. The real issue is how our philosophical systems of organization are at once both unified and aggregated. both one and many. The issue is not merely metaphilosophical, that is, something to work out in advance of actually engaging in philosophy. The issue is immanent to philusophy, as we sort through what will count as an acceptable intervention, or a legitimate object of analysis, or a human experience worthy of attention, or an acceptable mode of expression. And if we understand the "whole" in philosophy t~ be something close to universalism, and the "parts" to refer to topemes, It becomes clear that the whole will never be merely an aggregation of topemes. The universal in philosophy is something else, just as the infinite in arithmetic is not simply the end-point of the finite series (or else, as a point, it would be another finite quantity). Philosophy-in-place is always a matter of scale. Issues of scale are buri~ in phHosophical assertions, and exist as questions placed at the edge of dIfferences. Focusing on one level of scale allows the questions of another level to recede into the background, but they do not disappear. The charges against Africa, that no philosophy is possible, become clearly issues of resistance to scale, as conversations within Europe are regarded as significant but ones with Africa are not. Universality becomes confused with aggregation, and the generative possibilities of scale are lost.

Question of Borders: Whose Place Is It? Much contemporary discussion of place deals with the ways in which it is constructed, and the ways in which that construction legitimates particular interests. Coming from Henri Lefebvre, Edward Sosa, David Harvey and a host of others, it is clear that taking place seriously means taking competing interests and the history of often unequal encounter seriously. To re-ask the central question of African philosophy as "What is it to do philosophy in this place" immediately raises the question, w~ose ~lace? Places are never univocal. and to make the concept of place pIvotal m the construction of philosophy requires that we deal with historically unequal, often coercive relationships. It is worth noting that conceiving African philosophy according to the spatializing question I have already mentioned is even more potentially alienating. That question assumes a priority for European philosophy, and requires that African thinkers defend their enterprise if they want to call it philosophy.

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central question, "What is it to do philosophy in this place?" is, among other things, a political question. We must ask about the forces of legitimation of concepts that operate in a place-why do some concepts gain currency, and others do not? What is marked out by these concepts? We must ask who the gate-keepers are, who benefits and who is left o~t of .a particular ph~losoph~­ cal regime. We must ask about the assumed relatIOnshIps between phliosophIcal traditions originating in colonizing countries and Africa, but also about the use of philosophical traditions within indigenous African philosophy (to the extent we can identify philosophy as indigenous). There is nothing in philosophy-in-place that covers over these difficult issues. In fact, connecting philosophy with its places may well uncover some of those political issues in new ways. To attend to place means to listen (as I will argue later), and to not assume that existing ways of structuring knowledge are unquestionable. . '. Philosophy in the West has often tried to remove Itself from pohhcal reality, by abstracting from existing political conditions. Political engagements have often been seen as superfluous to philosophical thought, or worse, an embarrassment to philosophical thought. Great philosophical thinkers can be extremely naive politically (Heidegger is a case in point, although the case is still open as to whether he was naive or whether he saw some continuity .between his thought and National Socialism). But to think from a place re~U1res that philosophy engage the political world. It will mean that we do not sImply ask about some abstract meaning of terms like "freedom" or "democracy." These ideas are significantly different within their places, without losing their philosophical significance. In other words, it is possible for philosophers ~o take differences of meaning seriously, and still be philosophers. "Uhuru" In Kiswahili, usually translated as "freedom," may well not mean what a North American thinks freedom means. This is not just a problem of translation, but a recognition that the term Uhuru has a specific platial history, and that it is not necessarily a deficient or derivative history compared to the ~est. . Politics is about relations. If we take, for the moment, that phliosophy IS tied to its places, and that African philosophy must attend to those places, and if we also take for the moment that cultures are not pure and that they come to self knowledge through the relationships with other cultures, then a philosophy of place must attend to the dialogues w~ich have. shaped. phil?sophical tradition. An example of this in Western phl~osophy IS con~aIn~ In Christian Delacampagne's paper, "A French PerspectIve on InternatlOnahsm in Phiiosophy,"J4 in which the author muses about the influences that have ' had an effect in French philosophy, and those which have not. He might have gone further to think about some of the ways that, for example, the interpretation of Heidegger in France suggests differences in the questions that are of

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interest in that philosophical tradition compared with the German or English tradition, but he did not. A central political issue for any philosophical tradition is: who gets to speak? Whose voice can be taken as representative, and who can be included in the conversation? We might be inclined to think that traditions that have been historically marginalized, and in which others (conquerors, occupiers, scientists) have spoken on their behalf, would be especially aware of this issue. This is true, but that should not obscure the political gatekeeping that happens at the edge of any philosophical tradition. There is at least as much in Western philosophy as there is in African. I am particularly aware of this issue, being a non-African working in African philosophy. Philosophy-in-place does not, I believe, designate hermetically sealed traditions, but it must be aware of the ways in which legitimacy and voice are established. The key is to embed issues of voice in the hermeneutic discussion. Hermeneutics of suspicion and of trust must operate simultaneously, and every speaker, including me, is susceptible to questions about motives, assumptions, and intentions, as weIl as questions about the strength of arguments. This is what it means to take questions seriously. Any writer is asking questions, and those questions themselves need to be questioned. This is the case for those from any tradition.

Question of the Milieu Much attention has been given to the concept of space. We clear a space, we make space, we determine our identity in terms of the space that we occupy. We have a set of possibilities, bounded and yet made possible by the boundaries of the space we inhabit. Yet, the question of the inhabitation, the living that occurs in that space, often is overlooked in favor of maintaining the possibilities that space affords. Does philosophy simply inhabit a space, or is philosophy the actualization of a reflective thinker's set of possibilities within a space? When we ask "where is African philosophy?", are we asking the question as if African philosophy is an actor with a set of possibilities, or as if humans reflect within a situation, a milieu, and the reflection that emerges from the specificity of that milieu becomes African philosophy? The second seems closer to the truth. This does not mean that the subject is unaffected by the milieu, or somehow precedes it, but rather that the actual lived choices that have been made are prior to the set of possibilities that the milieu makes possible. How can this be? It is because our choices are a large part of the boundaries of the milieu. We choose, or perhaps put another way, we live our lives, and in the living we actualize some things and allow others to

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recede. Our living describes our set of possibilities, not the other way around. In other words, space does not precede place, but place precedes space. But now we can view it from another angle. As J. Macgregor Wise puts it,

recognize the complex repetitions that occur throughout the topemes of African philosophy. Intensities point to difference within concepts, not between concepts. The point, then, is to recognize the ways in which concepts contain tensions, and make those tensions productive by recognizing that they always refer back to the contradictory existence that we have. This does not mean that we should simply look for diversity: "Difference is not diversity. Diversity is given, but difference is that by which the given is given."16 In other words, I am suggesting that the attempt to spatialize African philosophy has set the preconditions for doing nomadic, platial African philosophy, which actually has the tools to fluidly create concepts from the lived experience of Africans and the conceptual retlection on those conditions. African philosophy does not emerge from its resistance to European thought, then, but from its resistance to its own spatialized and essentialized forms, as well as its recognition of difference within itself.

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At the centre of the home, the territory, is not a single ralional subject, picking and choosing milieu, arranging one's space like flowers in a vasco The space called home is not an expression of the subject. Indeed, the subject is an expression of the territory, or rather the process of territorialization. Identity is territory, not subjectivhy.15

Can both of these be true? Can it be that place precedes space, and also that the subject does not choose the milieu but rather is an expression of it? I believe they can both be true. Moreover, they can be true without resorting to some form of Romanticism, in which the subject is simply an expression of a Weltgeist. Place qua place was only marginally important for Romantics (although enormously important as a vehicle for some form of Geist). In the case of African philosophy, place must be central, as it is the site of meaning. So, the milieu is not some form of African romanticism. We need not, for instance, entertain negritude in its romantic form, as an aesthetic, emotive expression of Africanity that taps into some shared Weltgeist.

Question of Intensity The tendency to spatialize African philosophy, to find its essential characteristics, ironically place it at cross purposes with its own future, while at the same time opening the door to that future. As I have argued, solidifying concepts so that the territory of African philosophy has been won and defended tends to undermine the nomadic ability of philosophy to create new concepts. Space becomes solid; place becomes ephemeral. These two are drawn further and further apart. Deleuze argues that heterogeneity is creative. Electric power comes from the difference between the cathode and the anode of the battery, and we might expect creativity to come from the distance between the solidified spatial territory of essentialist African philosophy and the very place which that essentialism fails to describe, but in which the philosophers themselves dwell. Intensities are more than this, though. They are the expression of difference. They are not available to our understanding in its normal operation. They are energy and instability. They disrupt the linear construction of African philosophy, in which foundations are identified and concepts are deduced. Instead of establishing the entitlements of African philosophy, as over against the claims to entitlement of Western philosophy (a move which renders African philosophy passive, unable to create new concepts), it is more productive to

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Question of Provenance Provenance refers to the recognition that all present theory is implicated by its own history, that is, it stands with traces of past questions, and past forms of reason. Provenance is an element of philosophy-in-place, in that theory always must tum back on itself, and not only out onto its objects of analysis. Theory, then, becomes an element of place, since place can never just be unreflectively experienced. It is experienced as meaningful, but also becomes meaningful as difference is uncovered and explicated, if only partially. It is possible to engage in hermeneutic analysis at some level without dealing in provenance. So, for instance, Annin Geertz discussed "ethnohermeneutics" as an ethnographic method: [E]thnohenneneutics attempts to locate the scholar and the people under study in each their own network of discourses, traditions, texts and meanings in the context of their social and intellectual circumstances. The result, I suggest, is a third perspective whereby the frames of reference of the scholar and the people under study are transcended. 17

Geertz's goal is to transcend the frames of reference of both the scholar and the people under study. While this may be imaginable in anthropology, can it happen for African philosophy? I do not believe so. While there may for awhile be a commitment to the idea that ideas are emplaced, it is not clear that such place is ever meant to continue, in any significant way, once theorizing has begun. And yet, this may simply point to the distinction between anthropological and philosophical knowledge production. Ultimately, hermeneutics is method for the anthropologist, a way of getting at the dynamic construction

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of meaning in a group. If the central philosophical dictum is "Know Thyself," in anthropology it is "Know the Other." But this example raises a difficulty in provenance. Is this simply a modernist value, the idea that we can subject everything to scrutiny, even our own theories? Is provenance possible, when one's dialogue partner neither desires nor values such interrogation? Provenance does not depend on shared goals in conversation to be true. In fact, there are rarely shared goals. Odera has demonstrated that there are philosophical sages in traditional Africa. What makes them philosophical? He argues that it is because they demonstrate critical ability toward tradition. that they do not simply preserve and speak that tradition. But it may just as well be that they are aware of the ways in which their critical ability stands in a tradition, that in fact the tradition allows such knowledge construction. Places are not simply practiced, but also reflected upon and represented. That reflection and representation is always necessarily partial and misleading, but it does mean that there is a link between experience, even that which is imbedded in tradition, and reflective, even critical thought. Such thought has remained largely invisible when positivistic methods have been applied or when assumptions about universalist methods in philosophy have been primary. So how might Geertz's ethnohermeneutics become philosophical? By pushing it a bit further. It abandons place too quickly. Geertz, after outlining ethnohermeneutics as a research tool, takes up the difficult question of the resistance of Hopi people to any research being done at all. Hopi skepticism came from years of betrayal by both governments and anthropologists. The situation in this area of research is such that few anthropologists are allowed to do research anymore, and representations of the Hopi must have the ap. ' proval of the tribal council. Geertz saw this as potentially disastrous to the productIon of knowledge m anthropology. With a colleague he organized a conference, to try to agree on research protocols: Because of this situation, Louis Hieb, who was at the Center for Southwest Research, University of New Mexico at the time, the Hopi Cultural Preservation Office and I co-hosted a conference in Phoenix, Arizona in 1995 entitled "Dialogue with the Hopis: Cultural Copyright and Research Ethics." Hieb and I hoped that the conference would encourage a dialogue that would ensurc cultural research in terms that the Hopis would find acceptable. I had hoped that we could establish frameworks for future field projects, pay rates for consultants, the conditions of copyrighted information and so on, or at least reach declaration of intent. But the conference became in effect anthro-bashing (338).

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The form the "anthro-bashing" took is not detailed, apart from the rejection of a proposal for the formation of a commission that would oversee research. And Geertz acknowledges the very different forms of knowledge that exist in the anthropological world and the Hopi world. But the bottom line is this: Contemporary cultural research is hampered by extremely difficult conditions, but I am convinced that we can neither ignore nor succumb to this confrontation. Otherwise, we can just as well find other jobs. My basic stance is that it is fatal for research if we refrain from doing it because religious authority forbids it. We must of course reach agreements with the people under study in order to ensure privacy and reduce the risks they face, but analyses and results must bc independent. Ethnohermeneutics can also function here as an instrument of dialogue. But it cannot work only one way (339).

Several things are noteworthy about this and the earlier quotation. First, the response to the resistance of the Hopi was to try to set up a dialogue. This dialogue. though, had a very clear agenda-to find a way to bureaucratically ensure and manage the continued production of knowledge in anthropology. Secondly, resistance is interpreted as a prohibition by "religious authority." That places it as a conflict between Western reason and traditional religion, not between alternate forms of reason. Third, the ideal of (Western) reason is reaffirmed-"analysis and results must be independent." But independent from what, or from who? Fourth, hermeneutics is seen as a tool to reinforce Western science. And fifth, the barrier to dialogue is seen as being completely on the Hopi side, since the conference stands as a rational overture. This is hermeneutics without provenance. While making pro forma statements about anthropology's past misrepresentation and collusion in the oppression of the Hopi, this history is regarded as past. However, the universalizing knowledge that came out of that time is still regarded as legitimate. More than that, it cannot really be questioned by the Hopi. There is no conversation here, because there is no provenance. This dialogue cannot find its place, because it has no place. It must happen at the level of abstract theory, contrasting science and religion, rather than raising questions about the uses of knowledge. The possibility of dialogue has had many betrayals that cannot be fixed simply by a bureaucratic document. What is perhaps needed is philosophy, in particular the development of Hopi philosophers who can begin to articulate the life-world of the place. In the process, it will become apparent that this cannot be done in isolation, that there is a provenance for the Hopi as much as there is for the anthropologist. Then, perhaps, listening and speaking can begin. Until then, hermeneutics will be of little help.

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Question of Self and Other The dialectic of self and other has been critiqued by Foucault, Mudimbe, and others as an essentially Eurocentric mode of thought, and in particular, one imposed on Africa. But alterity is multifaceted and contradictory. Understanding the self through understanding the other li~s behind the tens~on between coherence and complexity. The Other both disrupts understandmg and makes understanding possible. It is tempting to cast the Other in only one manner-Africa has been Europe's "Other" (meaning inferior), and must now extricate itself, making Europe the Other (meaning the hostile oppressor). But Otherness has many faces: Fascination: The other can be the exotic, the foreign. It could be the object of idle curiosity, of collection, of pride. Repulsion: The other can be the thing to be avoided, the leper. It could be that which reminds me of my own corrigibility, or that which just turns my stomach. . . Desire: The other can be the thing to be owned or controlled. It IS that which I believe fulfils a lack in my existence. Dependence: The other can be the thing which makes my own existence possible. According to Karl Barth and Rudolph Otto (to use an analogy from theology), it is the otherness of God that is the real point of religion. It could be the ground of my being, or it could be the transcendence of my being; either way, it is what I am not, but what makes me possible. . Smugness: The other could be the primitive (Levi-Bruhl), the ones not I~~e us because they lack Culture. They could be valorized (Rousseau) or VIlified (Hegel), but they are always easily forgotten. Appropriation!subsumption: The other could be that which is absorbed, that which is assimilated into my being, giving up its own being on my behalf. Marginalization: The other is often that which is left out after c~herent ~ean­ ing is arrived at. It is that which makes no sense, from the POlDt of view of the coherent centre. Horizon: The other might be that which holds the possibility of understanding by being the place where the tradition and prejudice of th.e Same can be challenged and uncovered, at least in part. (Gadamer, and ID another way, Levinas) Domination: The other could be that which is my servant, that which relieves me from the drudgery of my own existence by taking that drudgery on ' him-, hero, or it-self. The machine and the slave are both the other. Foil: The other could be that against which I test myself, or that against which I measure myself.

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Mirror: The other could be that in which I find myself again and meet myself anew, the familiar in the alien and the alien in the familiar. Body: The other could be that part of me that is always subordinate, if I believe Descartes and hold that I am a thinking thing. It may simply reduce to a tool that I can use to control other thinking things, or it could be the thing that keeps me from true Enlightenment (Plato, Gnostics). It could also be that which requires interpretation, as it is my expression in the world and the world's interaction with me (Merleau-Ponty). There are probably many more tropes which can be used for alterity. The point is that African philosophy is defined by its ability to set for itself others for it to understand. The Other of (neo-)colonialism is an important one, but not the only one. There is the other of culture, as Theophilus Okere argues. There is the other of its own tradition, of other world traditions of philosophy, of religion. The other may be relatively benign, as the trope of the mirror or the foil may suggest, or it may be insidious, as the trope of domination may suggest. It will always come with moral as well as epistemic and ontological implications, for these tropes do not exist in isolation. And, of course, there is the position of oneself as the other of something else (a position African philosophy knows all too well). The other may be insidious, but to assume that it is only that (just as to assume it is only benign) is to close down interpretive possibilities and flatten the possibilities of self-understanding. The other serves the function of making oneself coherent, either by mirroring or alienating, and serves as the locus of complexity in any narrative of coherence. It establishes noetic possibilities through the making of distinctions while unmasking the machinations of power behind knowledge through the questioning of the motives of those distinctions. The result is a move to the construction of coherence with the realization of complexity, the hope of repetition with the realization of powerlknowledge, and the possibility of action with the realization of fallibility. And, in this way, the self/other relationship presupposes the construction of place. Levinas uses platial images of interiority and exteriority, and argues for a fundamental fissure between these two places. Knowledge, or what we take for knowledge, is something that attempts to confirm the Same (a legacy of Platonic anamnesis), and absorbs the Other into the Same. But this cannot happen. The same, or the self, cannot make the other into its home, nor can the same suppose that the other is the self's home. The self experiences the other not as a threat, but as a joy: The I is, to be sure, happiness, presence at home with itself. But, as sufficiency in its non-sufficiency, it remains the non-I; it is enjoyment of 'something else,'

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never of itself. Autochthonous, that is, enrooted in what it is not, it is neverthels less, within this enrootedness, independent and separated.

project. And finally, dialogue need not involve hearing at aJl- many dialogues are little more than two speakers speaking in turn. While one might argue that these are failures of dialogue rather than real dialogue, the point is that the term allows us to rise too quickly above the level of engagement. The problem is that dialogue is embedded within tradition and reason, it does not rise above it. Because of these problems, it is more useful to focus on listening and speaking. And, in the same way that I have tried to re-orient philosophy toward questions rather than claims, I would like to re-orient philosophy primarily toward listening, rather than speaking. For both questioning and listening, the claim or the spoken is not abandoned or rendered irrelevant, but rather they are both necessarily related to something outside of themselves. Just as claims are answers to questions, what is spoken is made possible by the space in which the speaking occurs. That space is the space of listening. Models of consensus assume that claims are the central feature of thought (and that they have come into accord); this model, on the other hand, suggests that listening must precede speaking. The term "listening" could mean several things. It could refer to the reception of thought, the literary heirs to Gadarner's hermeneutics and Ingarden's literary theory (Constance school reception theory). It could refer to a moment in dialectic. It could refer to an ideal in the ethics of reasoning, that in order for reasoning to proceed listening must occur. To some it suggests passivity, when the impulse of most philosophy is to promote and defend claims. At worst, listening could be mistaken for a mode of consumption. And, more playfully, listening may be "listing," the inclination of a ship, or perhaps the act of ordering in a sequential form. Listening suggests inclination, and an active ordering capacity, rather than simply the passive act of reception. Little attention has been paid to listening in philosophy. The most important work on listening is by Gemma Corradi Fiumara. The Orher Side of Language 21 treats listening as dialogic, having as its goal unity. Despite the problematic optimism toward dialogue, she rightly recognizes that listening clears space for thought, and that it is not simply an absence. But we need to press the optimism a step further. Listening is openness to the Other, in the sense discussed earlier. It is attention, a1though in itself attention can have its own agenda and priorities. Listening moves away from merely hearing when it draws out what cannot be spoken, or what will come forth only unwillingly, from both the self and the other. Listening cannot presuppose accord, nor does it necessarily have accord as its goaL Rather, it opens space for understanding to occur. That understanding may well be understanding of the self (one's own commitments and prejudices, in Gadarner's sense), and it may be the understanding of the

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Much could be said on Levinas, self and other, and place, but the important thing is to recognize that encounter with the other takes forms other than domination.

Question of Listening and Speaking I have chosen "listening and speaking" rather than dialogue, discussion, or conversation because the latter have become vexed terms. Their use sets off cautionary bells for many, especiaily when it comes to philosophy. Deleuze and Guattari, for instance, remark that philosophers have very little time for discussion. Every philosopher run~ a~ay when he or she hears someone say, "Let's discuss this." ... CommUnicatIon always comes too early or too late, and when it comes to creating, conversation is always supert1uous. 19

There is truth to this. Dialogue suggests a position from above listening and speaking, one which subsumes both. It opens the door to any number of abuses, not the least of which has been the liberal assumption on the part of the West of an equa1 field or marketplace where ideas could be exchanged. The call for dia10gue itself betrays a position of power, as terms such as "agreement" and "cooperation" raise questions about whose terms that agreement will take. Steven Tyler excoriates dialogue as faces suffused with the glowing light of reasonable reason, cooperation, consensus, harmony, and agreement, ... a cloying Franklinesque sense of sm~g self-righteousness, ... a kind of braying colonial authoritarianism wrapped m the nag of undistorted communication. 20

One might see dialogue as rising above place, striving for meta-language and meta-reason that holds forth the hope of agreement when in fact it simply replicates repressive conditions from the past. Someone might advocate dialogue when they really intend to advance their own position at the expens~ of all others. Someone else might advocate dialogue as a means of forestalhng action, in the way that scientific studies are sometimes ca1led for ?y those who want to avoid acting on persuasive existing knowledge (for Instance, in the case of g10bal warming). Or, dialogue may be used politically to give the appearance of agency to someone else, to placate the~, while in fact. it is being used to keep critics at bay while one proceeds WIth a controversIal

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speaker, but neither of these assume that either the beginning or ending of listening is accord. The reason for bringing the dual moments of questioning and listening to the foreground here is because I believe that African philosophy has a very strong tradition of doing exactly that. To a much greater degree than Western philosophy, African philosophy occurs within social communities. If we accept that the telling of stories or proverbs could be the site for philosophy (although they themselves may not be philosophy - it depends on the questions we ask of them), then we must recognize that stories and proverbs are communal activities. They must be spoken, and as importantly, they must be listened to. Listening means more than hearing. Listening suggests engagement. For philosophy-in-place to work properly, a literal context of listening and speaking is essential. Written words. such as these, will set the stage, but they are too slow and inefficient to enable the real task of listening, which is recasting thought. We must be able to say. "I thought I heard you say this," or "Is this what you meant?". and have an immediate response. That response might be affirmative, but more likely it will be the occasion for retlection, recasting. and rethinking. It might be negative - "no. you've misunderstood me." But in any case, there is the possibility of sharpening thought. and as well, bringing out real shared concerns and meaning. Philosophy then emerges as a shared task. rather than as a proclamation. Therefore, while many philosophers have argued for the importance of writing in the establishment of philosophy, I believe that the oral situation allows thought to continue to be connected to place, while attaining the level of theory. African philosophy, then. far from being at a disadvantage to European thought, actually has a tool at its disposal for the production of new concepts, if it finds a way to use it well. And listening has this further important feature. In academic philosophy, it is frequently the case that theories are constructed first, and then applied to new situations. Often this leads to problematic results-my earlier comments on Gerald Wanjohi's treatment of proverbs is a case in point (ch. 6), and Kai Kresse demonstrates the same point in his critique of a Mudimbeist reading by Nicholas Brown of a Swahili poet, Ahmed Sheikh Nabhany.22 In both these cases and many more, the construction of knowledge did not begin with listening, but with theory construction that was applied to the phenomena. One might argue that these cases are just examples of philosophy poorly done, but in fact, any prior theorization amounts to speaking before listening, and will always necessarily cover over more than it uncovers. Listening is not magic. As with dialogue, it is at least possible to use forms of listening as political tools to reinforce the status quo, or to win points. "I hear your pain" tel1s us more about what the speaker desires than any listen-

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ing that actually occurred. But unlike dialogue, listening must include an aspect of questioning. It is not just the act of filling an empty container with content. Listening is not passive absorption. It involves Gadamer's "genuine question."

Question of the Trace: Explicating and Creating the Space of Thought There is .a familiar game played by children in many parts of Igboland. They form a Circle among themselves. One of the players runs round and round the other~, chanting a song: onye ayana anya n' azu, mmanwu anyi na- agba n' azu; meamng: let none of the players look back because our masquerade is running at the back. As the ~rson continues running round and round the players, he would c.hoose one of the squatting players and cunningly and quietly drop whatev:r nOiseless object he is holding behind a participant's back. If the person the object has been dropped at his back does not take notice of this. and the player c~me.s round to the person, then he would flog the particular participant. After thiS, It would be the tum of that participant to play the game. If, however, the person wh~m the object has been dropped at his back notices it, he quickly gets up and begms the game whereas the player who dropped the object would join the other players in a squatting position in the circle they had formed. Such a player would not have won his game.21

This description by Damian Opata is found in a chapter titled "Space in Igba Thought and Life." Opata here evinces an interesting tension. On the one hand, he positions his discussion as one which takes as its frame of reference discussions of space in the West. The definitions oflgbo terms that begin the chapter serve to set the terms of space and place as the western distinction between range and location. Ebe, which he suggests can mean either space or place, us~aI1Y"means place, "as in Kedu ebe unu bi?, in which place do ~ou .peopl~ hve? (52-53). Space, then, from his set of definitions, begins as Ih~/ife, which he defines as "space/thingllightJwidth/outside," or efe, defined as 'chance/space" (53, 51). On the other hand, though, the development of the Igbo notion of space looks much more like place in the terms we have come to use in this book. Witness the uses of the term that Opata has decided is equivalent to "space": Apart. from the instance where ihe means outside, as in the sentence 0 di n'ihe; meamng: It is outside, it is to be noted that the use of the word ihe in an unmodified form mean.s ~hysical space within which something can take place. Thus a .woman. who IS. mfomled that her husband was about getting (sic) a second Wife, ~ Idea which she does not really like, could retort: ihe di. meaning that there IS room for the second woman who is about to join her in her matrimonial home (53).

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A "space within which something can take place" is a meaningful spa~e, a space that is not simply a range of abstract possib.i1ities but one of me~nmg­ ful possibilities, along with prereflective constramts. But these meanmgful . 0 foptIons, ' . bl e ones. 24 "There possibilities convey more than a Itst even vI.a is room for the second woman" - is there really? If that IS what the husband thinks will solve his problems, then there is space for another wife, and probably many more. But the ironic strategy of the wife is to use th~s so-called "space" as a double opening of the question that the husband wIll not confront. What is the question to which another wife is the answer? The husband has two options, to confront that question or not. If he is willing. he confronts the existential and social space which the husband and wife inhabit. If he is not willing, at least the peace of the household is kept, and the wife has the satisfaction of having expressed her opinion, however indirectly. The game described earlier is significant in that "there is no rule on who should start.... It becomes then a game with no marked positions, no beginning space, no middle space, and no end space" (58). Opata. takes this to mean that 19bo space is complex, which is certainly true, but It also seems to indicate that working within space means working within a context (how does a child know what the "right" way to go is?) and attending to experience (what works and what doesn't? How do you outsmart the others, that is obtain a desired end through recognizing clues or implementing strategies that cannot become codified as rules?). On one level. the game is no different from any other game, in that the official rules give a very limited picture of what actually happens, much less what it takes to succeed. On a~o~~e~ level, the game does give an example of space-as-place, the set of possIbIlItIes that make movement possible are preceded by the meaningfulness of the world. Opata spends time discussing not only literal physical. s~aces, but m~ta­ phorical spaces, particularly those of the ancestors a?d spmts. He sees hl.mself as differing from other commentators on Igbo notIons of space by argumg that there are two fundamental "spaces," the visible and the invisible, rather than three, heaven, earth and hell (64). He argues that the tri-partite division is a result of Christian influences, while Igbo cosmology itself operates on binary terms. In 19bo cosmology, "since space has been seen to be objectual ... , it is obvious that space is always space of." Space is where significant events happen. The division between the visible and the invisible makes ~s­ sible the division between the sacred and the profane. Spaces left for deItIes must not be violated, or there is an ontological disturbance. While these realms are separate, they also mingle together: it is also believed that spirits also "buy and sell" alongside human beings in the same market. Thus there is a widespread belief among the 19bo that one who

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wishes to see the spirits in the market should bend down and look backwards from in between his thighs, a position from which it is believed that the person would see persons whose legs do not touch the ground as they walk about the market. These people are supposed to be the spirits of dead people. That there ~s a particular position which people must adopt in order for them to see spirits In the market goes to support what we had earlier on talked about the necessity to be in a "correct" position so as to get the correct view of the object or phenomenon being viewed (67).

. Not only do the realms mingle, but as Opata says, there is a particular positIon that allows a proper view. The space is not only not abstract, but it also depends on the orientation of the one experiencing it to make it available. Opata's discussion of place/space gives us an opening to discuss philosophy-in-place, and in particular the question of the trace. As has become clear, my use of concepts of place and space straddle the border between the literal and the figurative. Indeed, I think that what we take to be literal is infused with figurative content, while the figurative always bears the mark of the literal. The argument concerning African philosophy has been directed at shedding the spatial metaphor as primary, which means that the task of defining boundaries and determining citizenship in the land of African philosophy has been a problematic enterprise. In Opata's depiction of space, he easily moves from "space" to "space of," a phenomenological project that requires attention to experience rather than metaphysical categories. If he is correct, it s.eems clear that the phenomenological move does not belong solely to twentIeth-century European thought. Past this, though, his work brings critical reflection to platial practices, which allow the possibility for the development of philosophy. He is not just doing descriptive anthropology or ethnophilosophy. Bringing the space of the game to light brings forth the possibility that this space becomes philosophical space, not simply the space of practice. There is another reason that Opata's discussion is relevant to the argument about the priority of place in African philosophy. It would be tempting to map the place/space distinction onto the particular/universal distinction, and suppose that what I am really trying to say is that Africans do not have the ability to abstract, that they only live in the particular and thus are bound to place, while Europeans have progressed to being able to use concepts of abstract space. Opata gives us the ability to see both the implementation of abstract notions of space as well as a phenomenology that prioritizes meaningful place. The point is not to divide along these easy and misleading lines. The point is to argue that anywhere, Europe, Africa, or anywhere else, philosophy begins from the Hv~d experience of people, and from there constructs abstractions and concepts whIch are useful, but which are artifacts of philosophy, or the evidence that

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philosophy has passed this way. Everyone uses no~ions of. abstract spac.e (and Opata's injunction that a survey should be done which clarifies Igbo notions of that space is well taken), but in any culture the use of abstract space does ~ot open the door to the philosophy that has happened there. If we only stop wIth a survey of space, we have at best proven the "mapping" point, th~ Afri~an philosophy has territory on the map, but we have produced a red hemng whIch will not alloW African philosophy to move further than that.

THE EXHAUSTION OF PLACE The concept of place has been presented in this book as a way out of some self-imposed limits within African philosophy, and by extension, as a way of rethinking philosophy in other places as well. The focus has been on the creation of new concepts through the questioning of questions rather than the establishment of propositions. The result of this process is not a set of concepts that spatialize thought, drawing boundaries and establishing territory, but concepts that respond to the past, present, and future of place, that is, become adequate to the places in which they are meant to matter. Clearly. though, if we take seriously the idea that places are topemes, assembled from sub-significant elements, that they have scale. borders, and form a milieu and operate as intensities formed by self/other and speaking/listening relationships, that they have provenance and leave traces that lead us to understand what has currency, we are faced with the question of limit cases. Were this spatial philosophy, we might be led to think that a single mode of analysis is universal and applicable to all possible cases. Is that the case here? Are there places that are inhospitable to philosophy? Are there places where concepts cannot take root, where there is no viscosity in the sense that they do not flow from one place to another. but neither do they stick in a place, even to become ossitied? The case I have made, aft~r. all, ~as implied that the tendency in European thought has been towards solIdificatIOn of concepts into shells, obscuring the movement and change that concepts must have to remain vital. Jacob Boehme, the Lutheran mystic. wrote in 1623 of "gefassete," a neologism for him that was a combination of the Ge~ wo~d 25 "GeiliB," or container, with the verb "fassen," or grasping. He beheved. m a proto-Nietzschean manner. that entities (including conceptual one~) came into being when they produced their own containers. or sh~lls. The dlfficu!ty, though, is that those shells can ossify, and they can also be ffilst~e~ for the vItal life within, which required shells to be manifest, but was also hmlted by them. This is the issue that the concept of place addresses in relation to forms of thought that would use concepts as propositions in a logical strUcture, and fail to

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recognize their vitality which comes from their debts and duties. But the problem here seems to be the opposite one. It is not ossification. but liquidity. Are there places that are so changing, so desperate. unpredictable and inhuman, that they hardly qualify as places, and thus concepts can barely take hold? Can one do philosophy in a concentration camp? In a refugee camp? In a famine? What would it mean for concepts to live up to the debts and duties in these places? This question must be heard as it is meant. I do not mean to suggest that this is the unique situation of Africa. that the question of the limits of place comes up only here and nowhere else. It is noteworthy that as a simulacrum of place took hold after the attacks of 9/11 in the US, concepts in the public mind became stripped of nuance. and were not allowed to travel. Discourse became limited in its conceptual scope as nuance was seen as being soft on the enemy. I have argued elseWhere that the same happened in Rwanda after the genocide in universities-language (and the concepts it bore) became simplified because nuance would not work in the service of a precarious state. 26 And, I have argued that after hurricanes in Florida. concepts were not adequate to their places. as the first reaction of those creating the concepts was to fall back on problematic, place-denying narratives. 27 . But what is notable in all these cases, and many others we could mention. IS that no place ever remains in this emaciated state. While we might imagine that there are places which resist conceptual travel and creation (or even artistic creation, as suggested by Adomo's "poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric"). none remain resistant forever. The pain and injustice might endure-there is no diminishing the existential rupture of the Holocaust, or of slavery, or of occupation and colonization. or of disaster-but as we have seen repeatedly with figures such as Elie Wiesel, W.E.B. DuBois, Aime Cesaire. Frantz Fanon, Achille Mbembe. and many others. even the ruptured place eventually calls for conceptual creation. And. those concepts must be adequate to the place, or as nearly so as is possible. Those concepts may reach beyond reason, beyond the bounds that concepts were supposed to travel, but that is what adequacy to a place requires. Place, then, is not a universal philosophical solution. It is no substitute guarantee, replacing the concepts questioned throughout this book. It does not serve as a universal in the sense that it appears everywhere in the same way, or can be applied everywhere. It does not abolish the need for spatialized philosophy, but puts it in its rightful place, as a codifier of concepts but not a creator of concepts. It is a starting point and guide for questioning. Derrida's challenge from the beginning of the introduction. then, must also complete this study: Where does the question of the right to philosophy take place? Where does it today find its most appropriate place?

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NOTES 1. The centrality of questioning for philosophy can be found in the work of R. G. Collingwood (An Autobiography) and H-G Gadamer (Truth and Method), a~ well as Michel Meyer, Of Problematology: Philosophy, Science and Language (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995). 2. Watsuji Tetsuro, Climate and Culture. Translated by Geoffrey Bownas (n.p.: The Hokuseido Press, 1961). 3. Arto Haapala, "Interpreting Heidegger Across Philosophical Traditions." Metllphilosophy 28, no. 4 (October 1997): 433-48. 4. T. J. Diffey, "The Question of Internationalism in Philosophy and Aesthetics." Metaphilosophy 28, no. 4 (October 1997): 323. 5. Lucius Outlaw and Michael D. Roth, "Is There A Distinctive African-American Philosophy?" Academic Questions 10, no. 2 (Spring 1997): 29-45. 6. The irony that I havc been an editor of a journal called Philosophia Africana is not lost on me. 7. Lewis Gordon, Existentia Africana: Understanding Africana Existential Thought (New York: Routledge, 2000). 8. Metaphilosophy 28, no. 4 (October 1997). 9. Tom Rockmore, "Can Philosophy Be International?" Metaphilosophy 28, no.

4 (October 1997): 302-13. 10. T. J. Diffey, "The Question of Internationalism in Philosophy and Aesthetics." Metaphilosophy 28, no. 4 (October 1997): 314-28. 11. Jay Van Hook, "African Philosophy and the Universalist Thesis." Metaphiloso. phy 28. no. 4 (October 1997): 385-96. 12. Richard Shusterman, "Internationalism in Philosophy: Models, Motl ves, and Problems." Metaphilosophy 28, no. 4 (October 1997): 289-301. The earlier piece is Richard Shusterman, "Aesthetics Between Nationalism and Internationalism." Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 51, no. 2 (Spring 1993): 157-67. 13. All three quotations are from Shusterman, "Internationalism in Philosophy," 290-91. 14. Christian Delacampagnc, "A French Perspective on Internationalism in Philosophy." MetaphiJosophy 28, no. 4 (October 1997): 397-403. 15. J. Macgregor Wise, "Home: Territory and Identity" in Cultural Studies 14, no. 2 (2000): 301. . . . 16. Gilles Dcleuze, Difference and Repetition (New York: Columbia UmvefSlty Press, 1994): 222. 17. Amlin Geertz, "Ethnohermeneutics and Worldview Analysis in the Study of Hopi Indian Religion." Numen 50 (2003): 315. 18. Emmanuel Lcvinas, Totality and Infinity (Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press, 1969): 143. 19. Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guatlari, What is Philosophy?: 28. 20. Stephen A. Tyler, "Ode to Dialog on the Occasion of the Un-for-seen," in The Interpretation of Dialogue, cd. Tullio Maranhao (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990): 292-300. Quoted in Marshall, Donald. "On Dialogue: To Its Cultured

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in Bruce Krajewski, ed. Gadamer's Repercussions: Reconsidering PhIlosophIcal Hermeneutics (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press 2004): 129-30. ' 21. Gemma Corradi Fiumara. The Other Side of Language: A Philosophy of Listening (London: Routledge, 1990). 22. Kai Kresse, "Rcading Mudimbe, applying 'Mudimbe', turning an insider out: problems with the presentation of a Swahili poet." Journal ofAfrican Cultural Studies 17, no. I (June 2005): 103-29. . 23. Damian Opata: Essays on Igbo World View (Nsukka, Nigeria: AP Express Publishers, 1998): 58. ThiS book is filled with editorial mistakes, some of which make the mcaning ambiguous-reader bewarc. 24. 1 would like to thank Emmanuel Eze for his insight on this section. 25. Sce Jacob Boehme, "Mysterium Magnum" in Siimtliche Schriften. 11 vols. Edited by Will-Erich Peuckert. Stuttgart: Fr. Frommanns Verlag, 1955-J961. Facsimile reprint of 1730 edition: Theosophia Revelata. Das ist: Aile Gottliche Schriften des Gottseligen und Hocherleuchteten Deutschen Theosophi Jacob B6hmens. Edited by J. W. Ueberfeld, Amsterdam, 1730: Vol. 7: 1:4. 26. Bruce Janz, "Universities in Times of National Crisis: the Cases of Rwanda and Burundi," Malinda Smith, ed. Globalizing Africa. (Trenton, N. J.: Africa World Press, 2003): 465-82. 27. Bruce Janz, "Places that Disasters Lcave Behind," FACS (Florida Atlantic Comparative Studies): An Interdisciplinary Journal 9 (2006-2007): 33~51.

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263

Index

Abelard, 47. 56 Achebe, Chinua, 37, 79 African philosophy; definition of, 7-':J, 74-77; nature of, 77-85; trends of, 16,77-80,99,111,158,225 African Philosophy: The Analytic Appnoach,89-9O,94 African-American philosophy, 3, 225-29 Afrocentrism, 128-30,205 Aggregation, 14-15,224-29,230-32 Akan, 143, 148-9, 168, 182n19, 202 Akoko,Paul~buya, 109,113 alienation, 126, 226 Amato, Peter, 116 Amo, William, 24 analytic philosophy, 6, 76, 94, 103-104, 155,220,222,227 ancestors, 41,55,228,246 anthropology, 2, 6,12,20,27,38,47, 61, 62n12, 75, 78, 92, 94,101-103, 121-22,127,237-39,247 Apache, 19 Appiah. KWame Anthony, 121 Archimedes, 20, 101 architecture, 11, 33n9 Aristotle, 13, 18,95, 131-32, 168-69, 187, 189 Armstrong, Louis, 191

art, 12,33n]2 Asante, ~olefi Kete, 128 Auge. ~arc, 12 Augustine, 24, 87, 142 Austin, J. L., 162 Ayany, Samuel Onyango, 38 Balibutsa, ~aniragaba, 160 Bantu, 24, 78, 156-60 Bantu Philosophy, 78, 190 Barasa, Chaungo, 106 belief, 21. 45, 54, 66, 71-72, 89-90, 101,103,108-109,112-13,117, ] 65, 174, 208, 233 Benjamin, Walter, 56, 59 Bernal, Martin, ] 28 Bernasconi, Robert, 66, ] 18n2 Berry. Wendell, 10 Bible, 58, 228 biology, 51,74, 133-36, 147. 157, 2]8, 219 Bodunrin, Peter, 78, SO, 100, 121, 190, 203-205 Boehme, Jacob, 248 Boethius, 132-33 borders, 16-19,29-30,86, 199,232-35, 247-48 Brentano, Franz, 141 Brown, Nicholas, 244 265

266

Index

Index

divergence; 108-1I0, 113, 115-16, Caliban's Reason. 88 172,215 Casey, Edward, 12,23 cultural elements, 126 Certeau, Michel de, 22 12. 94 cultural studies, Cesaire, Aime, 78, 128,200,249 Cultural Universals and Particulars, Chaungo, Okemba Simiyu, 106, 109 123, 130-31, 133-40 Chi,I77-78 cultural universals, 121-51; pure, 15, Christianity, 42,46,53, J51nl3, 246 123-30 Climate and Culture, 221 culture, 20, 22, 28, 38-41,48-49, Collingwood, R. G., 222 51-55,61.64,67,93-95,103-108, Collins, Randall. 32n2 121-23,131-51.156-58,167-68. colonialism, 18,20,76,77,198, 172-73,175-81,215-16,21S-20, 2oo,205,216,225-26,241;neo228-29,233-34,241,248; colonialism, 18, 205,241 common sense, 140 decolonization, 123-24 communication, 88, 112, 133, 158, 169, Decolonizing the Mind, 123 171,195,196,242; intercultural, deconstruction, 82 135-40,144-5I,152n26 Delacampagne, Christian. 234-35 community, 16,32,42,48,53-54,72, Deleuze, Gilles, 12, 18, 23, 180, 236, 101-102, 105-108, 114, 126, 13 I, 242 157,169,180,187,193,195,205Demiurge, 132 209,215,216 Derrida, Jacques, 1,4,23, 141, 146-47, concepts,7, II-I3, 18-20,22,28, 205,222-23,249 60,137,147,159,205,214-16, Descartes, 47, 123, 141, 144,241 223,233; as abstractions, 142-45; destiny, 178 creating new concepts, 12, 21-22, Dewey, John, 133-34 25,28,60,65,87,92-93,129-30, dialogue, 242-45; Socratic, I I 3, 145,206,213-14,217,219-21,233, ] 19n28. See also conversation 236,244, 248; and metaphysics, diaspora, 32,44, 76, 224-25, 233 45-48; and violence, 7, 145 Diffey, T,J., 222 consequential ism, 173 Diop, Cheikh Anta, 128 contingency, 2, 82-83, 110, 137, 139, disciplinarity, 5, 219, 233 142,147.187-90,197,207,209, disciplines, 1-7, 11-13,23,25,29,64, 217-18 93-94,137,202-206,218-20,233 conversation, 11,24-25,101-104, Dreyfus, Hubert, 221 110-17,130,139-44,147-48,179, Dubos, Rene, 12 196,207,215,219,221-22,238-39; dwelling. 228-29 breach of, 112 Dzobo, N. K., 40 coping, 8,204 corruption, 21. 43, 57, 189, 192-96, education, 113, 118n16, 185, 193 ]97,199 Enlightenment, 10, 24, 29, 39,47,53, critical philosophy, 81 66,67-68,73,88,91,117,191,241 critique, 24, 25, 27, 36n4 I. 40, 43, epistemology, 2. 63, 84, 87,92. 132-33, 45,49,55,58,67,74,82,94-95, 135,139,142,150, 151n14, 159, 10]-]04,122,135,141, 144,150, 174,226 151n6, 158,202,208, 216-17; as

Ethiopian philosophy, 24 ethics, 48, 55,78,157, 174-75, ISO, 187-89.194,199,214,226,243; Akan, 168; deontology, 175; metaethics, 175; teleology, 175 ethnographic school, 79-80 ethnography, 81. 101-103, 115,162; autoethnography, 175 ethnohermeneutics, 237-39 ethnophi10sophy, 2, 8, 267, 64, 78-80, S4, 92, 94, 99-103, IlO, 150, 156, 158,162,164,167,169-70,190, 219,227,247 experience, 6, 14-15, 18-19,23,27, 31-32,72, 75, 86. 90, 103, 107, ] 10, 117, ]28, 134, 140-45, 155-56, 168, 172, 176, 223, 226, 232, 237-38, 241,246-47 Eze, Emmanuel, 9 I, 118n2, 135-36, 251n24 false consciousness. 125, 146,203 Fanon, Frantz, 20. 25, 88, 200, 249 Feminism, 25-26, 82, 146 Festival,54 Fiumara, Gemma Corradi, 153n33, 243 focal1ength, 231 Foi,19 Foucault, Michel, 82-83,84. 146-47. 180,240 Forbes, Graeme, 12 freedom, 17.42,67,71,73,165,18788,191,198-99,234 Freud, Sigmund, 197 functionalism, 62n I2, 94, 127 The Future of Nostalgia, 52 Gadamer, H-G., 49. 54, 67, 79, 110, II7,146,189,240,243,245,250nl game, 245-47; in Wittgenstein. 91, 138 Gbadegesin, Segun, 209nl Geertz, Armin, 237-39 geography, 2, 9, 11-12, 33n8, 76, 218, 226 globalization, 14

267

God, 22, 30, 71.109,113-14, 119n33, 151nl3,24O Gordon. Lewis, 88,229 Graiule, Marcel, 78 Greece, 122 Gross, David, 56-59 Gyekye, Kwame, 24, 31, 38-43, 45, 50, 52,54-56,79,126-30,138-40,148, 151n6, 166-69, 170-71, 173-75. 177,179, 181, 190, 192-94, 196, 200-201 Haapala, Ano, 22]-22 Habermas. Jurgen, 21.49,88,92, 117, 136, 146-47 Hallen. Barry, 32, 65, 79-80, 89-90, 92, 94-95, 136, 157, 160-66 Harlem Renaissance, 227 Harvey, David, 232 Hegel, G.F.w., 2, 4, 5, 24, 26, 47, 6465,86,91,179,190,202,218,240 Heidegger, Martin, 6, 8, 10, 12, 15.23, 26,54.79,92, ]17, 141, 142. 146, 159,161,197.217-18,221-22,234 Henry, Paget, 87-88, 92 hermeneutical school, 80 hermeneutics, 7, 8, 19,50,54,81,94, 104,107, 116-17, 145, 147, 155, 170,189,235,237-39,243 hermeneutical circle, II, 144; re-creation. 178; of suspicion, 2, 235; of trust, 175, 235 hermeneutic trend, 77, 79, 99 Herrman, Friedrich-Wilhelm von, 221 historical school. 80 historicism, 66. 69 Hobsbawn, Eric, 39, 45 Hopi, 238-39 Horton, Robin, 66, 80, 94 Hountondji, Paulin, 27, 38, 40, 41, 64, 66,68,75,78-81. 100, 121,140, 156,158,166-67, 169, 190-95, 200-201,219,227 Hume, David, 10,24,91, 135 Husserl, Edmund, 88, 141, 160

268

Index

Index

identity, 2, 10-12, 15-16,29,43,53,58, 59,74,77,82,85, 1I2-13, 128, 130, 138,180,205-206,216,226-29, 235-36 identity politics, 84 ideological philosophy, 78, 99 ideology, 124,202-203 Igbo, 177-78,245-48 Ihde, Don, 221 Imbo, Sam, 37 Imperialism, 202 Indigenousness, 16 lngarden, Roman, 243 intelligibility, 136 intensity, 16, 18,236-37 intentionality, 141-42, 145, 188 instinct, 51, 135 internationalism, 230-32 intuition, 76,130,135,137,140-45, 147,208 Irele,Oladipo, 190,201-203

242-45,248 literary /artistic trend, 77, 79, 99 literature, 6, 11-12, 34n14, 37,195,220 Lippard, Lucy. 15 Liyong, Tabanlo, 79,191,200,205 localization, 230 logic, 46, 72, 79.88,92.95, 106, 127, 132,140,145,195,203,206 Logos, 143 Lopez, Sarry, 14 Louwrens, L. J" 156-57 Luo, 109, 142-44, 152n28; court case, 105

Madu, Raphael, 166--67, 170, 177-78, 180-81 Mairs, Nancy, 16-17 Makang, Jean-Marie, 38-39 Makinde, M. A., 42 Malpas, Jeffrey, 6, 12,23 maps, 29-31, 74,83-84 Marcel, Gabriel, 13, 182n21 Marx, Karl, 77,109,136,187,197,200, Kagame, Alexis, 32, 78, 157--62, 215 203 Kant, Immanuel, 24, 46, 65, 73, 91, 108, Masero, Mwitani, 109, 1I8n20 142, 156, 160,219,220,222; and Masolo, D. A., 36n41, 43, 80, 119n28, practical reason, 187-88, 198-200; 158 and technical reason, 187 Mbiti, John, 27,78,79,160 Kaphagawani, Didier, 63 McCole, John, 56 Kaunda, Kenneth, 205 meaning, 8, 11-15, 17-18,22,52, Kenya, 9, 23,70,78, 118nl. 191 60--61,87,90,95,102-103,107, Kierkegaard, Soren, 54, 87-88 113_17,126-28,137-40,143-51, Kinyarwanda, 157-59, 162 214_15,223,229,236-38,246-47; Kiswahili, 161,234 unreflective, 197 Kithanje, Stephen, 105-107, 109 medieval philosophy, 131-34, 139, 169 Kockelmans, Joseph, 221 Mendiata, Eduardo, 23 Kresse, Kai, 97n24, 244 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 8, 12,23,134, 241 La philosophie Bantu-lwandaise de metaphysics, 7, 10, 36n43, 45, 75, l' Etre, 158-60 132-33, 135, 139-43, 145, 147, 150, language, 14,21,32,116,121-24,142151n14, 159, 174, 175,206,226 44, 147-50, 155--66, 169-77,206, method, 19,64--67,76,84,91,95, 215_16,220,222-23,226,230-31, 99_100,110-17,163-65,204,215; 242-43,249 scientific, 17,31,127,237-38 Lefebvre, Henri, 223-24, 232 Mieder, Wolfgang, 171, 182n20 listening, 5, 20-21, 148, 150,222,

milieu, 8-10,12,16-19.235-36,248 missionaries, 142-43, 152n28 modem, 8-9, 13-14,19,29-31,37-52, 58-59,67,124-27,205-206,208209,238 moral theology, 200 morality, 41, 95, 130-31, 193-96, 203-204; revolution, 192-94. See also ethics Mudimbe, V. Y., 15, 36n41, 78, 80-81, 233,240,244 Mugambi, Jesse, 70 Nabhany, Ahmed Sheikh, 244 Narrative, 36, 43, 57, 60-61, 125,241, 249 Nationalist/Ideological philosophy, 78, 99 Native Americans, 229 Negritude, 81, 128-29, 160,236 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 82, 197,248 Nigeria, 23,48, 164,203 Nkrumah, Kwame, 78,80,81,205 nominalism, 14, 152nl4 ntu, 160 Nyerere, Julius, 78, 80, 205 Ogotemmeli,78, 110, 190 Ojwang, Jackton, 70, 72-73 Okafor, F. U., 42 Okere, Theophilus, 241 Oluwole, Sophie, 121-22, 159 one/many problem, 132, 151nl3 on&egun, 90, 93, ]62,164-65 Opata, Damian, 245-47 orality, 53, 58 Oruka, H. Odera, 24, 31, 64; and cultural universals, 130-31, 133, 135, 137, 140, 144-46; and four missions of philosophy, 195-%; and practicality, 187,189-90, ]94-200, 21On16, 21On17; and rationality, 70-73; and sage philosophy, 26, 31, 42, 99-118, 123,208-209,220; and trends of African philosophy, 77-80, 158

269

Oruka Rang'inya, 109 Osuru, Josiah, 1I3-14, 119n33 Otherness, 20, 30, 240-42 Outlaw, Lucius, 74, 80--82, 224-25 particularism, 31, 66, 85, 89, 92,139, 214 p'Sitek,Okot, 10,37,63, 79, 142-43, 152n28, 200 Peirce, C. S., 140 Philosophical Investigations, 138 phenomenology, 79, 84, 94, 141, 162, 247 philosophy; of action, 82, 188; African/ a philosophy, 224-29; American philosophy, 75, 218; analytic philosophy, 6, 76, 94, 103-104, 155, 220,222,227; British philosophy, 75,218; Caribbean philosophy, 226; continental philosophy, 76, 96n9,218, 222, 229; German philosophy, 161,217-18,220,222, 235; as kaleidoscope of society, 207; of language, 159; philosophy's debts and duties, 14,61,249; of practice, 188,200-201,216; professional philosophy, 78, 99; public philosophy, J88; Western philosophy, 12, 24-25, 60, 74, 76, 78,82-84, 102-124, 129-31, 155, J59, 161, 163--65, 168, 174-75, J78-79, 188-89,206,221,224, 234-36,244 philosophy-in-place, ]2-14, 17-21,27, 110,115-16,128,157,163,215, 217,223,230-35,237,244,247 phronesis, 82,106-107,187,189 Pintupi,22 place; inhospitable place, 28, 248; and p1acelessness, 17; platial philosophy, 11-12, 18,60-61,69, 111, 117, 129, 163,217-18.222.228-29,234,237, 241; and politics, 233-35; and space, 14,22,31,230,235-36,245-47 Plato, 26, 131-32, 168,241

270

Index

Plotinus, 131 poesis, 187 Porphyry, 132 positivism, 67, 91,95, 117 postcoionialism, 3, 37, 59-61 povert~ 194, 196, 198-99, 210nl6 power, 2, 20, 51,57.59,67, II3, 115. 124, 130, 136, 143, 147,220,241-42 practicality, 64, 105, 185-86, 190-209; definitions, 186-89 pragmatism, 45, 157,209,222,227 praxis, 187, 195 Presbey, Gail, 35n39 Pre-Socratics, 168-69 progressive modernism, 208 provenance, 12, 18-20,46,69, 162, 214,216,223,227,237-39,248 proverbs, 25, 32,121,16)' ]66-81, 183n23, 216, 227, 244; paremiology. 171, 179 psychology, 12,29,42,92,219 questions, 1-4, 31, 217-22; and disciplines, 7-9; philosophical, 3,6, 13,23,27,89,104,155, 166, 175, 177,180,214,2]7,219,220-21 question and answer, 69, 110, Il2-14, 117 Quine, Willard van Orman, 136-37, 162-64 race, 82,91, 155, 198,226,228-29 Race and the Enlightenment, 91 racism, 74, 76, 202 rational choice theory, 188 rational egoism, 131; The Rational Path: A Dialogue on Philosophy. Law, and Religion, 70-74,92 rationalist school, 80 rationality, 44,49-50,60,64-70,80, 84,87-88,94-95,102, ]40, 188; generative rationality, 92-93, 95, 215 realism, 133, 14] reason, 63-69,214-15; borders of, 86-87; evolutionary model of,

91-92; goal of. 85-86; and method, 95-96; and order, 85, 88-90; and philosophy, 93-95 ,practical, 18788, 196-200; reason's proper place, 70-74,90; and relativism, 92-93; theoretical, 67; and tradition, 42-45, 47; uses of, 87-88 relativism, 31, 42, 55, 63, 65-69, 85,90, 92-93,133,137,148,156,215 religion, 22,46-47,51,69-71,80,8788,90,140,173, 180,210,239-40 Relph, Edward, 12 resemblance, 132 Ricoeur, Paul, 49-50, 79, 87,141, 146, 175 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 21, 240 Rwanda, 78, 157-62, 249 sage, 26, 118n18,42, 76,99-17,123, 125, 163, 220,227-28; folk sage, 106, 108-111; herbalist sage, 162; philosophical sage, 106, 1l0-ll, 150,208,238. See also wisdom sage philosophy, 8, 31, 50,78-80,99117,150,179,207-208, 21On17. 215 Sage Philosophy: Indigenous Thinkers and Modern Debate on African Philosophy, 77, 99-117 Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, 156, 159-60, 163 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 88, 141 seille, 15, 198.230-33,248 science, 4-5, 29, 47, 65, 67, 69, 75, 81, 86,87,95,103, U5, 122, 140, 145, 190-96,218,239; social science, 116,192-93,200,209 self, 6-7,11, 13,16,19-20,22.130, 134-35,240-43,248 Senghor. Leopold Sedar, 78, 80, 128, 205 Serequeberhan, Tsenay, 8, 78, 200 Shils, Edward, 39-40; A Short History of African Philosophy, 65 Shusterman, Richard, 230-31 slavery, 18, 76,225-27,249 Smet, A., 81

Index Social Theory of Practice, 50 sociology, 12,75,191,218-19 Sogolo, Godwin, 155,21On2 sojoufll,228-29 Soyinka, Wole, 79 spatiill philosophy, 129, 163,213-16, 248 spirits, 109, 152n28 Stegner, Wallace, 10 structural adjustment programs, 203 structuralism, 103, 127 subaltern, 136 subjectivity, 6, II, 17,22,93, 128,226, 236; and language, 141. 147, 158 Sumner, Claude, 80, 167 synthetic philosophy, 81

Taiwo, Olufemi, 42 taxonomy, 77-82, 100 Tempels, Placide, 24,27.78-79, 158, 160-62,190 territorialization, 236 Tetsuro, Watsuji, 221 text, 2, 5,11,21,24-28,29-30, 36n41, 46.53-54,58,75-76,80,100,103, 113, 121 lextuality. 21, 25, 53, 220 theory, 5, 59, 115, 124, 173-74, 189, 200-204,237,239,244 Thiong'o, Ngugi wa, 10,79, ]23,161, 190. 200-201 thought-life, 214 Time and Narrative, 49 topeme, 13-14,20-21, 160,223-24, 226,23]-33,237,248 topic, 21 topoi,223 Towa, Marcien, 40 trace, 21-22, 245-47 tradition, 2,6,24,30-31,37-61, 75-76,79,86,91,93,103,106, 108,125-28.178-79,206,2]4-16, 222,227,230-31,235,238,240-41; as disruption, 59,214; invented, 39-40,45, 128; and modernity, 47,

271

59; as peripheraJity, 51, 60,214; and repetition, 54; transmission of, 50-61,214; uses of, 41-50 traditional, 8-9, 37,41-43,46-51,5960,81,83,107,122-24,172,176 traditionill philosophy, 81 Tradition and Model'llity, 31, 38 translation and translatability, 46, 131, 136,160-65,216,218 travel, 12, 139, 249 truth. 54, 63,85-86,89, 104, 106-107, 139-40,164,17I-72,176,182n20, 189-90, 195,202; and nokware, 148-49 Tyler, Steven, 242 ubuntu, 205 uhuru, 234 universal, 1-2,5, 12,75,82-85, 110, 171,175-76,206,208 universalism vs, particularism, 31, 63-66,89-91 universalist account of reason, 72 University of Nairobi, 185~6 utilitarian, Il2, 157, 186, 199,227 Van Gogh, Vincent, 221 Verharen, Charles, 129-30 Voice of Kenya, 70 Wanjohi, Gerald, 166-81,244 weakness of will, 194 welfare rationalism, 209 western, 26-27, 30,37,41,44,46,4850,58-59,66,68-69,90,94, Ill, 115, 117, ]21-25,239 Whewell, William, 140 Wiredu, Kwasi. 32,59, 78-80, 123-24, 130-51 wisdom, 31,42,50,55,57,76,78-79, 81,171-72,181,215-16.227; sapientialliteralure, 167. See also sage philosophy Wise, J. Macgregor, 236 wise sayings, 101

272

Index

witchcraft. 86. 89-90. 93,109 Wittgenstein. Ludwig. 64.91, 1I0. 138, 142 worJdview, 44, 71, 130, 150, 163-M,

168,175,197,219,233 Yacob, Zara, 24 Yoruba,80.90,93. 157, 162-66.202