The student of African philosophy would be well advised to also study anthropology, history, and politics, particularly of the Western world. After all, much of African philosophy is concerned with the relations between traditional African thought and ancient Greek philosophy, seventeenth- through nineteenth-century Western European social and political philosophy, and postcolonial African identity. Before these relations could be determined, however, African philosophers had to discover or, rather, rediscover traditional African thought. This job fell to the traditionalists. And, because traditional African thought was transmitted through African oral traditions, the traditionalists first had to examine African oral traditions to determine what traditional African thought entailed. Afterward they could determine the relations between traditional African thought and Western European philosophy. In turn, these relations could be used to establish a basis for arguing that traditional African thought counts as genuine philosophy.
But the traditionalists encountered a problem before they could even get started. Historically, some Western European anthropologists and philosophers argued that traditional African thought was simply the superstitious and “primitive” beliefs of “prelogical” peoples, born out of their ignorance of reality, and preserved in and handed down through their oral traditions for generations. Indeed, British anthropologist Sir E. E. Evans-Pritchard (1902–1973) articulated this view in Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic among the Azande. Unfortunately, there was nothing new about his position. In fact, similar positions had been articulated previously by many of the juggernauts of Western European anthropology and philosophy, including Thomas Carlyle (1795–1881) in “An Occasional Discourse on the Nigger Question,” Lucien Lévy-Bruhl (1857–1939) in How Natives Think, David Hume (1711–1776) in the Essays and Treatises on Several Subjects, and Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770–1831) in the Lectures on the Philosophy of World History.
Many traditional African philosophers disagreed with these characterizations of traditional African thought, but they were faced with the problem of identifying authentic African systems of thought on a continent that had been ravaged by the transatlantic slave trade and European colonization. This problem was compounded by the fact that, before slavery and colonization, African thought had been conveyed through oral traditions only, so there were no written records of their beliefs. Additionally, many of the European nations that colonized Africa established state assimilation programs through which they encouraged Africans to discard their oral traditions to become honorary citizens of the nations that colonized them. In light of these problems, traditional African philosophers had their work cut out for them. So, they worked vigorously to rediscover traditional African systems of thought by examining African oral traditions. Ultimately, they adopted the position that reason-based reflection and the search for universal knowledge are fundamental aspects of some Western European philosophical traditions that also can be found in some traditional African thought. Therefore, because traditional African thought is conveyed through African oral traditions, some African oral traditions count as genuine philosophy traditions. Placide Frans Tempels (1906–1977) articulates this view in “Bantu Philosophy.” Many other African scholars articulated similar views, including Robin Horton (1932–) and John Mbiti (1931–).
Undoubtedly, most African philosophers understood the magnitude of the rediscovery project. After all, rediscovering genuine philosophy in African oral traditions would demonstrate that Africans had achieved advancements in thought before the transatlantic slave trade and colonization. This would ipso facto demonstrate that Africans are not primitive or prelogical. Moreover, it would provide empirical evidence against the claims of racial inferiority articulated by Hume, Hegel, Carlyle, and Lévy-Bruhl. Of course, the early modern African philosophers were well aware of this, but many of them objected to the rediscovery project on the grounds that it confuses ethnophilosophy with genuine philosophy and science. This criticism was intended to denigrate the work of the traditional African philosophers as anthropology designed to uncover folk thought. Genuine philosophy, by contrast, is reason based and aims at discovering universal knowledge about the world, society, and individuals. As we shall see, many contemporary philosophers object that the search for universal knowledge is futile. Nevertheless, many early modern African philosophers adopted the position that although Africans were not engaged in genuine philosophy before slavery and colonization, they are engaging in it now, and they ought to continue to do so. Kwasi Wiredu (1931–) articulates this position in a paper titled “How Not to Compare African Thought with Western Thought.” Other notable African scholars articulated similar positions, including Paulin Hountondji (1942–), Kwame Gyekye (1939–), and Peter Bodunrin (?–1997).
A second group of modern African philosophers was on the horizon. They objected to Wiredu and the early modern African philosophers on the ground that they unjustifiably presuppose that the reason-based search for universal knowledge that’s indicative of some Western philosophical traditions ought to be the criteria by which we judge whether or not other modes of thought count as genuine philosophy. Additionally, they argued that because some Western European anthropologists and philosophers have judged traditional African thought as superstitious, primitive, and prelogical, they will automatically conclude that traditional African thought is not genuine philosophy. Therefore, instead of adopting the reason-based search for universal knowledge as the criteria for genuine philosophy, some later modern African philosophers argued for adopting standards to recognize traditional African thought as culturally relative knowledge and to accept some culturally relative knowledge as genuine philosophy. In this way, traditional African thought would not have to meet Western European standards to count as genuine philosophy. Léopold Senghor (1906–2001) championed this position in his paper titled “On Negrohood: Psychology of the African Negro.” He was joined by many African American and African scholars, most notably Godwin Sogolo.
Nevertheless, as one might have expected, the debate between the traditionalists and modernists continued with no clear end in sight, primarily because there was no objective way to prove that either one of them was correct. There was, however, philosophical proof that the basic elements of traditionalism and modernism could be synthesized into one coherent position. To demonstrate this, Henry Oruka (1944–1995) has argued that it is possible for one to be a traditional African sage and engage in philosophical reasoning with an interlocutor on questions concerning the fundamental nature of the universe, the proper structure of society, the moral capacity of humans, and many other questions traditionally addressed by Western European philosophers. This, of course, would bring together the basic elements of traditional and modern African philosophy. Moreover, this way of doing philosophy would yield universal knowledge (if that’s possible) and culturally relative knowledge, depending on the questions raised by the interlocutor and the responses offered by the African sage. Oruka calls this position “philosophical sagacity” in his 1983 paper titled “Sagacity in African Philosophy.” Several African philosophers defended and expanded on Oruka’s insights, including Gail Presbey and F. Ochieng’-Odhiambo.
More importantly, however, the genius of Oruka’s position was that it encouraged the traditional and modern African philosophers to move beyond the endless debates about what should count as African philosophy and to begin philosophizing. As a result of this move, there has been a proliferation of African philosophical perspectives, including Afrocentric, aesthetic, communist, feminist, hermeneutical, Marxist, modernist, phenomenological, sagacious, socialist, and traditionalist. Indeed, far too many perspectives have emerged to organize them into a single conversation in this article. Rather, this article arranges some of the scholarly discussions about African philosophy in a student-friendly conversation. Moreover, because the best way to gain a broad understanding of African philosophy is through a historical analysis, we begin with a brief discussion of African, American, and Western European history, and then use that historical analysis to shed light on several important anthropological, philosophical, and political debates about African thought.
A WINDOW INTO HISTORY: THE EUROPEAN INTELLIGENTSIA AND A HERETOFORE UNDISCOVERED PRELOGICAL PEOPLE
In the sixteenth century, British, Dutch, French, Portuguese, and Spanish merchants began kidnapping and purchasing Africans along the coast of West Africa to be sold into slavery in the Americas. Indeed, merchant ships traveled in three-month rotations from their home ports in Europe to slave-trading ports in West Africa and then to their colonies in North, Central, and South America. After a short stay in the colonies, the merchant ships would return to their home ports, only to begin preparations for another rotation. Modern-day scholars refer to this triangular slave-trading route as the transatlantic slave trade. And it was massive. Although no one knows exactly how many merchant ships traveled the route, or how many Africans were sold into slavery, most estimates place the number of voyages in the tens of thousands and the number of Africans sold into slavery in the tens of millions. The transatlantic slave trade continued until the nineteenth century when European nations began passing antipiracy laws that outlawed the capture and sale of people into slavery.
The abolition of the transatlantic slave trade did not bring oppression and exploitation in Africa to an end. Far from it. Between 1884 and 1885, Austria-Hungary, Belgium, Britain, Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Portugal, Spain, and Sweden-Norway convened at a conference in Berlin to determine which nations would be allowed to colonize regions of Africa without interference from other nations. After much debate, it was decided that Britain would colonize parts of North Africa, East Africa, West Africa, and South Africa; France would colonize parts of North Africa and West Africa; Germany would colonize parts of Central Africa and South Africa, Italy would colonize parts of North Africa and East Africa, Spain would colonize parts of North Africa and West Africa; and so on. This ignited a mad scramble to colonize quickly because no nation wanted to miss out on the potential profits and fall behind its competitors. As a result, Europeans forcibly colonized more than 90 percent of Africa, extracted natural resources, and shipped the resources to their homelands to be sold on their markets. In the process, they destroyed the environment, wildlife, and African cultures, families, and knowledge.
Meanwhile, European scholars published treatises arguing that Africans were prelogical. In the course of arguing for their position, some scholars would analyze the beliefs of a particular group of people and then conclude that the group in question was prelogical for one or a number of reasons. The most common reason cited was that the group in question does not reason in accordance with Aristotelian (Aristotle, 384–322 BCE) logic. This, of course, does not entail that all Africans are prelogical, but rather, that any group that does not reason in accordance with Aristotelian logic is prelogical. Evans-Pritchard employs this reasoning in his attempt to show that the Azande are prelogical in Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic among the Azande. By contrast, other scholars attempted to use evolutionary biology to show that all primitive people are prelogical. In short, these scholars argue that primitive people have not yet developed the intellectual capacities that are necessary for engaging in logical thinking. Hence, they are prelogical. Lévy-Bruhl articulates this position in How Natives Think.
To be sure, in Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic among the Azande, Evans-Pritchard argues that the Azande believe witchcraft is an organic substance that is transmitted directly to male children from their biological fathers, or directly to female children from their biological mothers. Moreover, the transmission of witchcraft substance from parent to child is necessary. In other words, male witches always transmit witchcraft substance to their sons, and female witches always transmit witchcraft substance to their daughters. Surprisingly, however, upon discovering that someone is a witch, the Azande do not draw the logical conclusion that all of the males or females in the witch’s family are witches. This is surprising to Evans-Pritchard because he thinks it’s logically evident, given the Azande’s beliefs, “that if a man is proven to be a witch then all of the male members of his clan are also witches” (Evans-Pritchard 1976, 3).
At this point, it’s worth taking a closer look into what the Azande believe. Evans-Pritchard’s interpretation of the Azande’s beliefs about how witches inherit witchcraft substance is correct. The Azande, however, also believe that as those who have inherited witchcraft substance grow and develop, their witchcraft substance matures and becomes stronger. When their witchcraft substance matures, they are able to beguile people, animals, and society. For this reason, the Azande consider those whose witchcraft substance has reached maturity to be witches. Conversely, they do not consider those with latent witchcraft substance to be witches. Although this explanation is not exhaustive, it does help us understand why the Azande do not draw the conclusion that all of the male descendants of a male witch are witches or that all of the female descendants of a female witch are witches. In short, they reason using a distinction between active and latent witchcraft substance to avoid accusing all of the males or females of a witch’s clan of being witches.
We find similar patterns of reasoning in all cultures. For example, the men who established the United States of America affixed their signatures to the Declaration of Independence, which states that all men are endowed with the inalienable right to liberty. Yet, many of those who signed the Declaration of Independence were slave owners, including George Washington (1732–1799), Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826), and John Adams (1735–1826). They thereby denied the right of liberty to African men. This seems like a clear contradiction in the founders’ beliefs. However, few, if any, would argue that this demonstrates that those who established the United States were prelogical. Rather, they would cite other beliefs held by these founders to explain away what seems to be a contradiction and thereby avoid the conclusion that the founders were prelogical. For example, they might explain that in early US history, Africans were not considered fully human, and therefore, the words of the Declaration of Independence did not apply to them.
More importantly, as illustrated previously, the Azande employ a similar pattern of reasoning when it comes to their beliefs about witches. Just as this pattern of reasoning can be used to defend the founders from the accusation that they are prelogical, it also can be used to defend the Azande from Evans-Pritchard’s accusation that they are prelogical. After all, the fact that the Azande articulate beliefs that allow them to explain away what seems to be a contradiction demonstrates that they are responsive to Aristotelian logic. In fact, this is why the debate about Azande logic has continued for so long. Those who agree with Evans- Pritchard’s interpretation of the Azande’s beliefs argue that the Azande are prelogical. Conversely, those who accept alternative interpretations of the Azande’s beliefs argue that the Azande reason in accordance with Aristotelian logic.
Lévy-Bruhl would agree with Evans-Pritchard’s claim that the Azande are prelogical, but his reason would be different from Evans-Pritchard’s. Lévy-Bruhl would argue that the Azande are primitive. And, because he thinks that all primitive people are prelogical, he would conclude that the Azande are prelogical. In fact, in How Natives Think, he argues that the cognitive experiences and abilities of civilized people are fundamentally different from those of primitive people. According to Lévy-Bruhl, civilized people recognize that their ideas are mental representations of things that they have experienced in the past or concepts that they have learned over the course of time. After all, civilized people can manipulate their ideas by combining and separating them from other ideas, differentiating them from the emotions they invoke, considering the logical entailments of their ideas, and, in short, engaging in cognitive abstractions. This, coupled with the ability to reason, as John Locke (1632–1704) explains in the Second Treatise of Civil Government, makes humans free, autonomous, and logical. After all, the abilities to engage in cognitive abstractions and abstract reasoning entail that one can know, and can choose to act in accordance with or contrary to, intellectual imperatives such as Aristotle’s principle of noncontradiction, Locke’s law of nature, Immanuel Kant’s (1724–1804) categorical imperative, and so on. Because civilized people have these capacities, they can act in accordance with intellectual imperatives, and therefore, they are free, autonomous, and logical.
By contrast, the cognitive experiences and abilities of “primitive” people are quite different. Their ideas are always and necessarily imbued with the mystic beliefs, inclinations, appetites, aversions, colors, sounds, and, in short, the mental impressions that accompany them. This explains why Evans-Pritchard says that there is no corner of Azande life or thought into which witchcraft does not reach. Indeed, the Azande use witchcraft to explain every event in their world: why yesterday’s hunt went well, why one’s wife suddenly has become sick, why one’s neighbor is depressed, why one’s livestock has died, why the community is experiencing a famine, and so on. Therefore, the Azande have never needed to engage in cognitive abstractions or abstract reasoning about events and occurrences. Of course, Lévy-Bruhl knows that primitive people appeal to their mystic beliefs when called upon to explain events and occurrences in the world. But, of course, his point is that they cannot do otherwise because their ideas are always imbued with mysticism. Or, to put it in another way, because the minds of primitive people have not developed the abilities to engage in cognitive abstractions and abstract reasoning, they cannot separate their ideas from the mysticism that accompany them. This explains why intellectual imperatives such as Aristotle’s principle of noncontradiction go unnoticed by primitive people. For this reason, Lévy-Bruhl concludes that primitive people are prelogical.
Today, most philosophers would agree that Willard Van Orman Quine (1908–2000) has put the question of the possibility of a prelogical people to rest. Indeed, by highlighting the practical problem of translating a completely unfamiliar language, Quine demonstrates that the endeavor to translate a completely unfamiliar language would require an anthropologist to attribute basic logic to the people he is observing. Otherwise, the anthropologists would not be able to understand the people he is observing, and therefore, he could not know that they are prelogical. Thus, if an anthropologist asserts that a group of people believes a contradiction (X and not-X), then we have sufficient reason to conclude that the anthropologist has made a mistake in attempting to translate their language into ours. Quine articulates this objection against Lévy-Bruhl in The Ways of Paradox and Other Essays.
AFRICAN TRADITIONALISM: THE PROJECT TO REDISCOVER GENUINE PHILOSOPHY IN AFRICAN ORAL TRADITIONS
Nevertheless, in light of what Evans-Pritchard and Lévy-Bruhl argued, it’s easy to understand why African scholars set out to rediscover genuine philosophy in African oral traditions. Such a discovery would mean that Africans have the capacity to engage in cognitive abstractions and abstract reasoning, which would show that they are responsive to Aristotelian logic. This, in turn, would mean that Africans are free, autonomous, and logical. No two philosophers made greater efforts to demonstrate this than Tempels in “Bantu Philosophy,” and Horton in “African Traditional Thought and Western Science.” According to Tempels, Africans believe that all living and nonliving things are essentially different kinds of forces. To be more specific, everything in the universe consist in forces: the force of God, the forces of the ancestors, the forces of living people, the forces of all animals, vegetative forces, and the forces of all inanimate objects.
Moreover, Tempels tells us that Africans believe that God, the ancestors, humans, animals, plants, and inanimate objects each have their own unique force, and each force exists in a hierarchical relationship with all other forces. God’s force is at the top of the hierarchy because God is the source of all others forces. The forces of the ancestors also are exalted because they are the progenitors of all human beings. The forces of parents are higher than the forces of their children because children depend on their parents for survival, and so on down the hierarchy. This way of thinking about the universe is similar to the hierarchy of being that we see in the writings of many seventeenth- through nineteenthcentury Western European philosophers. Unfortunately, however, Western European missionaries used this similarity to advance European colonization in Africa. In fact, in “The Particular and the Universal,” Hountondji criticizes Tempels for helping to introduce white supremacy into the Congolese conception of the hierarchy of forces. According to Hountondji, Tempels did this for political reasons, namely, to convince the people of the Congo that Europeans have superior forces and thereby discourage uprisings by embittered Africans against their Belgium colonizers (Hountondji 1995, 182–188).
Nevertheless, like Azande witchcraft, African forces are used to explain every event in their world: happiness, sadness, justice, injustice, health, sickness, fatigue, adrenaline, depression, jubilation, success, failure, and so on. For example, when an African becomes sick, it is said that her force is being diminished by the force or forces of other people, animals, plants, objects, or some combination of them. In such a case, she must consult a spiritual force practitioner to find out what incantations she can perform, elixirs she can drink, or foods she can prepare to replenish her force and protect it from the forces of others. In light of this, one can understand why Africans hold one another praiseworthy for amplifying the forces of others and blameworthy for diminishing the forces of others. After all, those whose forces are stronger can harm those whose forces are weaker. More importantly, because Africans live in close-knit communities, they want to discourage people living within their communities from using their forces to harm one another. One way they do this is by attaching the terms good or bad to acceptable or unacceptable uses of forces.
Nevertheless, one might wonder how this demonstrates that African oral traditions count as genuine philosophy or that Africans have the capacity to engage in cognitive abstractions. The answer, as Tempels explains it, rests in the fact that one can extract African philosophical positions from African oral traditions. First, according to Tempels, African ontological philosophy (theory of which beings exist in the universe and how they relate to one another) entails that only forces exist and that they are related to one another in a hierarchical way, with God at the top, followed by the forces of the ancestors, then the forces of humans, and so on. Second, their metaphysical philosophy (theory of the fundamental nature of reality) entails that the entire universe is an intricate network of forces. Tempels describes it in this way: “nothing moves in this universe of forces without influencing other forces by its movement. The world of forces is held [together] like a spider’s web of which no single thread can be caused to vibrate without shaking the network” (Tempels 1995, 72).
Finally, their ethical philosophy (theory of good and bad) entails that people deserve praise or blame depending on how they use their forces. If they use their forces to amplify the forces of others, then they deserve praise. If, however, they use their forces to diminish the forces of others, then they deserve blame. Or, as John Stuart Mill (1806–1873) might put it: act so as to amplify the forces of others, and, when amplification is not possible, avoid diminishing the forces of others. In light of these considerations, Tempels concludes that African oral traditions are reason based and that they yield universal knowledge about the world and individuals. Thus, they count as genuine philosophy.
More than this, Horton sets out to demonstrate that African oral traditions illustrate that Africans engage in scientific reasoning. Indeed, in “African Traditional Thought and Western Science,” he argues that the Azande notion of witchcraft, the African notion of forces, and the scientific notion of, say, quarks, operate in the same way. After all, all of these theories function by positing invisible entities to explain the unseen causal forces at work behind events and occurrences in the visible world. Thus, they function by positing invisible entities to explain the unseen causes of events and occurrences in the visible world. To see what Horton is suggesting, imagine that an Azande, an African from Tempels’s study (a spiritual force practitioner), a Cambridge University physicist, David Hume, and Robin Horton are sitting on a park bench watching a friend, James, ride a horse around a track. Furthermore, imagine that James suddenly, and without interference from another person, falls off of the horse and onto the ground. Lastly, imagine that James has a few bumps and bruises but no life-threatening injuries. He is able to get up, brush himself off, and lead the horse back toward the park bench. As he approaches, the group begins discussing what caused James to fall.
Horton argues that on a commonsense level all of their explanations of what happened would be roughly the same. In other words, the Azande, the spiritual force practitioner, the physicist, Hume, and Horton would all say that James lost his balance and fell off of the horse. But, Hume is something of a gadfly. He knows that the Azande is a witchcraft practitioner, the African from Tempels’s study is a spiritual force practitioner, the university professor is a physicist, and Horton is a philosopher, and they all rely heavily on inductive reasoning. Therefore, Hume would push them beyond their commonsense explanations, demanding to know what caused James to fall to the ground. He would readily admit that they all saw James fall off of the horse and onto to the ground, but he also would point out that this does not explain why James fell downward toward the ground as opposed to levitating in midair, or floating upward, or spontaneously combusting into flames.
At this point in their conversation, a commonsense explanation will not answer Hume’s question. Quite the opposite, only a scientific answer involving an explanation of the causal forces that pulled James downward as opposed to holding him aloft, pushing him upward into the air, or causing him to burst into flames will suffice. This is the kind of challenge that physicists love. Undoubtedly, the Cambridge professor would explain that the upward force that the horse exerted on James was great enough to cause him to lose his balance and slip off of the horse. The force of gravity then pulled James downward causing him to fall onto the ground. More importantly, however, the physicist’s explanation would give Horton the occasion to interject that if we substitute witchcraft or spiritual force for the force of gravity, then we will arrive at the Azande’s or the spiritual force practitioner’s explanation of what caused James to fall to the ground.
Here, Horton’s point rests on something that Hume discussed at length in An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, namely, that humans cannot determine the causal forces at work behind events and occurrences in the world by simply examining similar events and occurrences. He writes:
It is confessed, that the utmost effort of human reasoning is to reduce the principles, productive of natural phenomena, to a greater simplicity, and to resolve the many particular effects to a few general causes, by means of reasoning from analogy, experience, and observations. But, as to the causes of these general causes, we should in vain attempt their discovery; nor shall we ever be able to satisfy ourselves by any particular explication of them. These ultimate springs and principles are totally shut up from human curiosity and discovery (Hume 1977, 4.26).
Therefore, we construct scientific explanations (causal generalizations) on the basis of our past experiences and observations of events and occurrences in the world to explain similar events and occurrences in the present, and make predictions about events and occurrences that we expect to occur in the future. All of this is based on inductive reasoning.
More importantly, to put Hume’s insights in the context of the previous discussion, the Azande posit witchcraft to explain the unseen causal forces at work behind events and occurrences, the African from Tempels’s study posits spiritual forces to explain the unseen causes of events and occurrences, and the Cambridge University physicist posits gravitational forces for the same purpose. Thus, the Azande, the spiritual force practitioner, and the physicist construct causal generalizations based on their past experiences of events and occurrences in the world to explain similar events and occurrences in the present and to make predictions about events and occurrences that they expect to occur in the future. In these ways, witchcraft, spiritual forces, and gravitational forces are the same. That is, they “introduce unity into diversity, simplicity into complexity, order into disorder, and regularity to anomaly” (Horton 1995, 304).
Given that the Azande, the spiritual force practitioner, and the physicist posit invisible entities to explain the unseen causes behind the events and occurrences in the visible world, it is reasonable to wonder why gravitational forces demonstrate that physicists engage in scientific reasoning, but witchcraft and spiritual forces do not demonstrate that Africans engage in scientific reasoning. Horton believes that there can be no good answer for this. After all, even if one assumes that witchcraft theory and spiritual force theory are wrong about the fundamental nature of the universe, one cannot deny that their practitioners wonder and speculate about the invisible forces at work behind events and occurrences in the visible world. This being the case, Africans engage in scientific reason in just the same way that Western world physicists do. Moreover, if one must be logical to engage in scientific reasoning, then Africans are as logical as Westerners.
AFRICAN MODERNISM: RETHINKING THE REDISCOVERY PROJECT
Although modern African philosophers understood the magnitude of the rediscovery project, they nevertheless disagreed with those who claimed that African oral traditions convey genuine African ontological (theory of what exists), metaphysical (theory of reality), and ethical (theory of right and wrong) philosophy as well as with those who claimed that African oral traditions illustrate that Africans engage in scientific reasoning. In fact, as previously noted, in his article “How Not to Compare African Thought with Western Thought,” Wiredu argues that the motivation to prove that Africans are not prelogical led many to formulate biased interpretations of what African oral traditions are. This, in turn, led them to confuse African religious traditions with Western European philosophical and scientific traditions.
As Wiredu explains it, the hallmark of philosophical traditions is that they are reasonbased enterprises in which reflection, justification, critique, and defense are integral components of systematic approaches to fundamental questions in the search for universal knowledge. These criteria are simply not components of African oral traditions. He writes, the claim “that our departed ancestors continue to hover around in some rarefied form ready now and then to take a sip of the ceremonial schnapps is a proposition that I have never known to be rationally defended” (Wiredu 1995, 162). Quite the opposite, the claims about witches, spiritual forces, gods, and so on that we find in African oral traditions are not justified through argumentation. Rather, they are simply accepted on faith by the members of the oral traditions in which they are believed. In fact, this is the hallmark of an African oral tradition. It is also the hallmark of a religious tradition.
Wiredu is not objecting to Tempels because traditional African thought is conveyed through oral traditions. Far from it, all philosophers would agree that philosophy can be presented in many different ways, including in oral formats. To be sure, most of Plato’s works were presented in the form of dialogues between Socrates (470–399 BCE) and various interlocutors, most famously Adeimantus (432–382 BCE), Cephalus, Glaucon (445–fourth century BCE), Polemarchus (fifth century–404 BCE), and Thrasymarchus (459–400 BCE) in the Republic. Nevertheless, Plato’s arguments for and defenses of his positions are clear to anyone who understands his dialogues. Thus, the point of Wiredu’s objection is that reflection, justification, critique, and defense are necessary conditions for engaging in philosophy, but they are not necessary conditions for, or even components of, African oral traditions. Conversely, faith is a necessary condition for engaging in African oral traditions and religious traditions. It is not, however, a necessary condition for, or a component of, philosophical traditions. In this case, African oral traditions are more like religious traditions than they are like philosophical traditions. In light of these considerations, early modern African philosophers concluded that traditional African scholars were wrong to think that African oral traditions are similar to philosophical traditions.
Additionally, Wiredu explains that the hallmark of scientific traditions is that they require their practitioners to engage in reflection, investigation, hypothesis construction, critique, and defense or falsification of the hypothesis as ways of distinguishing between acceptable scientific claims and unacceptable scientific claims. Thus, scientists who hypothesize that gravity pulls objects toward the center of the earth are required to construct experiments to determine whether or not their claim is falsified by the empirical evidence. If the empirical evidence shows that gravity does not pull objects toward the center of the earth, then the hypothesis is falsified. In this case, the scientists are required to discard their hypothesis and continue investigating the phenomena. By contrast, reflection, investigation, hypothesis construction, critique, and defense or falsification of the hypothesis are not conditions for, or even components of, African oral traditions. In fact, African oral traditions do not require their practitioners to meet any of these criteria.
Moreover, the entities posited in scientific theories function differently from those posited in African oral traditions. For example, quarks (and the other entities posited in scientific theories) are impersonal, natural phenomena that are governed by the laws of physics. Scientists trying to understand and manipulate quarks are engaged in investigations of the physical world. By contrast, spiritual forces and gods are personal, supernatural phenomena that act according to their individual personalities. Consequently, spiritual force practitioners trying to manipulate these entities must appeal to their personalities to affect their behavior. In light of these considerations, Wiredu and other early modern African scholars concluded that the entities posited in African oral traditions function more like the entities posited in religious traditions than like the entities posited in scientific traditions. Essentially, Horton’s mistake was that, in his haste to demonstrate that Africans are not primitive or prelogical, he overlooked the distinction between religious traditions and scientific traditions. This led him to the false conclusion that African oral traditions demonstrate that Africans engage in scientific reasoning.
Hountondji takes Wiredu’s critique further by considering some of the social and political consequences of articulating incorrect interpretations of what African oral traditions are. For example, in “The Particular and the Universal,” he argues that the motivation to demonstrate that African oral traditions are as legitimate as Western scientific traditions led some Afrocentric scholars and politicians to encourage Africans to uncritically adhere to their oral traditions. Even worse, many Afrocentric scholars and politicians went so far as to suggest that belief in witchcraft and spirits is just as sound as belief in science and medicine. This, according to Hountondji, is a dangerous practice.
Indeed, during the late twentieth century, HIV and AIDS were spreading throughout South Africa at the pace of a pandemic. Nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) such as the World Health Organization (WHO) did everything they could to encourage South Africans to take preventive measures, such as using condoms. However, many South Africans were resistant because they believed that HIV and AIDS were caused by witchcraft and they trusted that the proper preventive measure was to consult with a witchcraft practitioner. Consequently, many consulted with, and followed the instructions of, witchcraft practitioners and ignored the instructions of medical professionals. The results were devastating. The infection rates for HIV and AIDS skyrocketed among people living in South Africa. This prompted many in the international community to pressure the South African government to launch nationwide awareness campaigns informing its citizens of the dangers of HIV and AIDS and the necessity of using condoms to prevent the spread of HIV and AIDS. It was only after these campaigns were launched that the medical community was able to lessen the spread of HIV and AIDS in South Africa.
Of course, Hountondji believes that Afrocentric scholars and politicians who encouraged Africans to uncritically adhere to their oral traditions, and who were seen publicly participating in traditional practices like “pouring libation to the spirits of the ancestors on ceremonial occasions or frantically applauding … the frenzied dancing of the ‘possessed’ fetish priest,” bear some responsibility for convincing mostly illiterate and unscientific people to trust the advice of witchcraft practitioners over the advice of medical professionals (Wiredu 1995, 162). He also thinks that if all scholars and politicians had uniformly encouraged South Africans to be critical of their oral traditions and to embrace modern science, then the infection rates for HIV and AIDS might have been reduced significantly. In light of this and similar considerations, Hountondji and some early modern African philosophers issued stern warnings to Afrocentric scholars and politicians, reminding them of the social and political dangers of encouraging Africans to uncritically adhere to their oral traditions, particularly when those traditions are unjustifiably elevated to the level of scientific traditions. More importantly, however, they concluded that instead of attempting to elevate African oral traditions to the level of scientific traditions, African oral traditions should be thought of as religious traditions and Africans should look to modern practices for guidelines to establish philosophical and scientific traditions.
AFRICAN MODERNISM RECONSIDERED
In the twenty-first century, many scholars object to the search for universal knowledge on the grounds that it is unattainable. In fact, for this reason, in Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature, Richard Rorty (1931–2007) argues that philosophers should abandon their search for universal knowledge in favor of a communal conception of philosophical knowledge. In a similar vein, in the Scientific Knowledge: A Sociological Analysis, philosophers Barry Barnes (1943–), David Bloor (1942–), and John Henry (1950–) argue that scientific knowledge is established through sociological practices. Therefore, given that different cultures have different social practices for establishing what counts as knowledge, scientific knowledge is ipso facto relative to culture. So, not all Western European philosophers accept that the search for universal knowledge is a component of the criteria for genuine philosophy.
Neither did all African philosophers. In fact, many later modern African philosophers objected to the early modern African philosophers on the ground that they unjustifiably presuppose that the reason-based search for universal knowledge that is indicative of some Western European philosophical traditions ought to be the criteria by which we judge whether or not other modes of thought count as genuine philosophy. In fact, in “On Negrohood: Psychology of the African Negro,” Senghor explains that Western European criteria require philosophers to approach the world from the perspective of a rational subject who must objectify, immobilize, dissect, and comprehend objects of inquiry to determine how they might be utilized. In this way, the Western European philosopher tries to reduce all things in the world (God, ancestral spirits, other humans, animals, plants, and all inanimate objects) to means in the service of his ends.
By contrast, traditional African criteria require philosophers to approach the world from the perspective of a rational and emotional kindred spirit who wishes to become connected to other kindred spirits to learn about them and allow them to learn about him. Thus, traditional African philosophers engage with objects in the world to become connected to them. Once connected, they are emotionally moved by them and thereby gain an understanding that can be achieved only when kindred spirits participate with one another simultaneously. More importantly, traditional African philosophers do not attempt to reduce objects in the world to means in the service of their ends. Rather, they recognize that all entities in the world are unified by their spiritual forces, and therefore, they exist in a symbiotic relationship with one another.
We saw hints of this in Tempels’s explanation of African metaphysics in “Bantu Philosophy.” As Tempels explains it, according to African metaphysics, the entire universe consists of a unified field of forces that connects God’s force, the forces of the ancestors, human forces, animal forces, plant forces, and the forces of all inanimate objects to one another. The traditional African philosopher learns about objects of inquiry by tapping into their forces and objects of inquiry learn about the inquiring philosopher by tapping into the philosopher’s force. Thus, in the traditional African context, both rational and emotional experiences are necessary for understanding. Hence, the traditional African philosopher wishing to gain knowledge about the world must have both objective and emotional intelligence. More importantly, however, Senghor’s analysis requires that “any process of cross-cultural scholarship that begins from the presumption that Western paradigms [frameworks] of reason and objectivity set the standards by which any other culture should be judged is bound to miss the truths enshrined in” traditional African thought (Hallen 2009, 49).
We have seen this mistake repeated throughout history. For example, as discussed, Western European anthropologists such as Evans-Pritchard and Lévy-Bruhl argued that Africans are not capable of engaging in cognitive abstractions. As a result, they concluded that traditional African thought is superstitious, primitive, and prelogical. This caused them to overlook and misunderstand important truths enshrined in traditional African thought. Traditional African philosophers attempted to highlight many of these truths as they rediscovered traditional African thought, but their work was largely ignored by scholars in Western Europe and North America. Likewise, Western European philosophers such as Hume made a similar mistake. Hume argued that Africans are intellectually inferior to Europeans. For example, in the Essays and Treatises on Several Subjects, he tells us that
the negroes, and in general all the other species of men (for there are four or five different kinds) [are] naturally inferior to the whites. There never was a civilized nation of any other complexion than white, nor even any individual eminent either in action or speculation. No ingenious manufactures amongst them, no arts, no sciences.…[And yet] in Jamaica they talk of one negro as a man of parts and learning… ’tis likely he is admired for very slender accomplishments, like a parrot, who speaks a few words plainly. (Hume 1777, vol. 1, 12511)
This undoubtedly caused philosophers like Hume to overlook and misunderstand
important truths enshrined in traditional African thought.
Early modern African philosophers did not make the mistakes of arguing that Africans lack the capacity for abstract thought or that Africans are intellectually inferior to Europeans. They did, however, unjustifiably presuppose that the reason-based search for universal knowledge that we find in Western European philosophical traditions ought to be the criteria by which we determine whether or not other modes of thought count as genuine philosophy. Thus, as they began to rediscover traditional African thought, which does not conform to Western European criteria for philosophy, they automatically concluded that it was not genuine philosophy. We saw an example of this in Wiredu’s “How Not to Compare African Thought with Western Thought.”
Sogolo agrees with Senghor’s analysis of the differences between Western European philosophical approaches to the world and traditional African philosophical approaches to the world. In fact, in Foundations of African Philosophy: A Definitive Analysis of Conceptual Issues in African Thought, he argues that instead of automatically accepting Western European standards for engaging in philosophical inquiry, African philosophers must develop standards for understanding traditional African thought that are relative to the cultures in which the traditional thought appears. In this way, we could avoid making the mistake of presuming that traditional African thought is not genuine philosophy simply because it does not yield universal knowledge. More importantly, we could recognize that traditional African thought yields culturally relative knowledge and count some culturally relative knowledge as genuine philosophy.
Sogolo’s argument rests on a common distinction in philosophy between universal knowledge like mathematics and culturally relative knowledge like social practices. The hallmark of universal knowledge is that it is necessarily true and independent of cultural practices. For example, 2 + 2 = 4 everywhere in the universe. Therefore, the philosopher wishing to evaluate the claim that 2 + 2 = 4 does not need to know or understand the social practices of the culture in which the claim appears to determine whether that claim is true, or why the claim is true. By contrast, culturally relative knowledge is contingently true. Its truth value changes because social practices change from culture to culture. For example, marijuana use is prohibited in some cultures but not in other cultures. Thus, the claim that “marijuana use is prohibited” is true in some cultures but false in others. In this case, the philosopher wishing to evaluate the claim that “marijuana use is prohibited” needs to know the social practices of the culture in which the claim appears to determine whether or not the claim is true. For example, philosophers only need to know that the laws prohibit marijuana use to determine that the claim is true. If, however, philosophers wish to know why the laws prohibit marijuana use, they would have to understand the social practices of the culture in which the claim appears.
Sogolo believes that traditional African thought yields culturally relative knowledge. Thus, he concludes that, for those outside of African cultures to understand the culturally relative truths enshrined in traditional African thought, African philosophers must create standards for understanding traditional African thought that are relative to the cultures in which the traditional thought appears. In this way, we could recognize that traditional African thought yields culturally relative knowledge and count some cultural relative knowledge as genuine philosophy.
THE AFRICAN SAGE: DIALOGUE AS A PATH TO PHILOSOPHY
Oruka approaches the debate about African thought and African philosophy from a slightly different perspective. He argues that instead of engaging in endless debates about whether or not traditional African thought counts as genuine philosophy, we should accept that it is possible for one to be a traditional African sage and engage in philosophical reasoning with interlocutors on questions concerning the fundamental nature of the universe, the proper structure of society, the moral capacity of humans, the existence of God, whether humans are autonomous or heteronomous, and many other questions traditionally addressed by Western European philosophers. This process would yield universal knowledge and culturally relative knowledge, depending on the questions raised by the interlocutors and the answers offered by the African sage. More importantly, however, it also would also result in genuine philosophy.
To see what Oruka has in mind, imagine that an Azande sage is visited by an interlocutor, Socrates, from Plato’s Republic. Furthermore, imagine that Socrates is interested in engaging in a dialogue with the sage about Azande witchcraft and about the fundamental nature of witchcraft. Of course, during the first stage of the dialogue, the sage would have to explain the Azande’s beliefs about witchcraft, the Azande’s beliefs and practices generally, and how witchcraft relates to the Azande’s other beliefs and practices. After the sage explains what the Azande’s beliefs and practices are, Socrates undoubtedly would push him for clarity, demanding that he answers more questions about the Azande beliefs about witchcraft. Notice that, at this stage in the dialogue, the conversation would be mostly descriptive. That is, it would be directed at conveying culturally relative knowledge about the Azande’s beliefs about witchcraft.
More importantly, however, we have no reason to assume that the dialogue must or will end here. In fact, if Plato’s Republic is any indication, then the conversation undoubtedly will continue. Indeed, Socrates would continue to push the sage, only this time he would be interested in understanding the fundamental nature of the witchcraft. Or, to put it in another way, he would push the Azande sage for a metaphysical explanation of how witchcraft influences people, animals, and objects in the world. In response, the Azande sage would be forced to explain his theory about the invisible forces at work behind witchcraft. For example, he might talk about how certain incantations exert influences on spirits and cause them to act in one way or another, how libation ceremonies necessarily induce ancestral spirits to do certain things, or how magic words cause certain chemical elements to combine with or separate from one another. Either way, at this stage in the dialogue, the conversation would be theoretical. That is, it would be directed at conveying what the Azande take to be universal knowledge about the fundamental workings of the universe and how Azande witchcraft and magic can be used to manipulate people, animals, and objects in the world.
After gathering information about Azande witchcraft, Socrates undoubtedly would play the role of the skeptic, challenging the Azande sage and forcing him to defend his position. Or, at least, this is one possible away in which their discussion might proceed. Of course, there are many others. Either way, no matter how their discussion proceeds, as long as the African sage is encountered by a skilled interlocutor, the end result of their discussion will be African sage philosophy. In fact, in the Meno, Socrates demonstrates that philosophy can proceed from almost anyone, even people without formal education. This conclusion should come as no surprise because we are familiar with the dialectical process from Plato’s writings. African sage philosophy could be established in a similar way; at least this is what Oruka argued in his paper titled “Sagacity in African Philosophy.”
Summary
In the twentieth century, most of African philosophy focused on providing analyses of, and responses to, racism and colonization, so many African philosophers engaged in some form critical race theory. In the twenty-first century, African scholars work in virtually every branch of philosophy. Indeed, Martin Bernal and Anthony Diop are Afrocentric philosophers; Theophilus Okere and Okonda Okolo are African phenomenologists; Oyeronke Oyewumi and Ifi Amadiume are African feminist philosophers; Amilcar Cabral and Oladipo Fashina are African Marxists; Innocent Onyewuenyi and John Ayotunde Isola Bewaji are African aesthetics philosophers; Alexis Kagame is a traditionalist; Frantz Fanon is a liberationist; Barry Hallen is a historian; and the list goes on. No matter what branch of philosophy one works in, most, if not all, would agree that the proliferation of African perspectives is good for the enterprise of philosophy because it puts to rest racially motivated skepticism about whether or not Africans have the intellectual abilities necessary for engaging in philosophical reasoning.
Now that the debates about whether or not Africans are prelogical peoples or have the capacity to do philosophy are over, in the future, we can expect that more African scholars will enter the field of philosophy. And, if we are lucky, we might one day come across traditional African thought that has not been pushed through the filter of Western European philosophy. This would allow us to answer the question of whether or not traditional African thought is philosophy without getting entangled in the social and political implications that our answer would have in a society dominated by racism and colonization. Although this would not affect the fact that more and more African scholars are engaging in philosophy, it would let us know whether or not African scholars were engaged in philosophy before slavery and colonization.
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