Friday, 30 January 2026

 

Who Hamann was (very briefly)

Hamann was an 18th-century German philosopher and essayist, often called the “Magus of the North.” He’s best known as a sharp critic of Enlightenment rationalism (especially Kant) and as a forerunner of Romanticism and later hermeneutics.

Language is absolutely central to his philosophy.


Core idea: Reason is dependent on language

Hamann rejected the Enlightenment idea that pure reason exists independently of history, culture, or language. For him:

There is no thinking without language.

Language is not a neutral tool we use after thinking; it is the medium in which thinking happens.


Language as embodied, historical, and cultural

Hamann emphasized that language is:

  • Embodied (rooted in sensory experience and the body)

  • Historical (shaped by tradition and time)

  • Cultural (inseparable from a people’s way of life)

This puts him in direct opposition to abstract, universal systems of reason that try to ignore these factors.


Critique of Enlightenment rationalism

Hamann argued that Enlightenment thinkers:

  • Pretended reason could operate independently of language

  • Ignored metaphor, narrative, and tradition

  • Treated language as secondary or ornamental

He thought this was a mistake. In reality:

  • All concepts are linguistically formed

  • Abstraction depends on metaphor

  • Reason always rests on unexamined linguistic and cultural assumptions

This critique is especially aimed at Kant, whose project of “pure reason” Hamann saw as fundamentally incoherent.


Language as metaphorical and poetic

One of Hamann’s most distinctive claims is that:

  • Metaphor is not decorative—it is foundational

  • Language originates in poetry, image, and analogy, not logical definition

For Hamann:

  • Human speech begins in gesture, emotion, and image

  • Abstract concepts are later developments built on this poetic base

This anticipates later thinkers like Nietzsche, Heidegger, and modern philosophy of language.


Theological dimension

Hamann’s view of language is also deeply theological:

  • He believed God reveals truth through language, not abstract reason

  • Scripture, metaphor, and paradox are therefore not weaknesses but strengths

  • Human language mirrors divine communication: indirect, symbolic, incarnational

This is why Hamann embraces paradox rather than trying to eliminate it.


Style as philosophy

Importantly, Hamann didn’t just argue these ideas—he performed them:

  • His writing is aphoristic, metaphor-heavy, ironic, and allusive

  • He deliberately resists systematic exposition

  • The form of his writing embodies his belief that meaning cannot be reduced to clear definitions alone


Why he matters

Hamann’s work on language influenced or anticipated:

  • Romanticism (Herder, later German thought)

  • Hermeneutics (Gadamer)

  • Critiques of rationalism

  • Modern views of language as world-shaping rather than neutral


One-sentence summary

Hamann argued that reason is inseparable from language, that language is fundamentally metaphorical and historical, and that Enlightenment attempts at “pure reason” ignore the linguistic and cultural conditions that make thought possible.

If you want, I can also:

  • Compare Hamann directly with Kant or Herder

  • Explain one specific text (like Aesthetica in nuce)

  • Connect him to modern philosophy of language or literary theory

"It’s the kind of rage people feel when the world injures them in ways that don’t leave fingerprints".


I know what the world has done to my brother and how narrowly he has survived it and I know, which is much worse, and this is the crime of which I accuse my country and my countrymen and for which neither I nor time nor history will ever forgive them, that they have destroyed and are destroying hundreds of thousands of lives and do not know it and do not want to know it.

But it is not permissible that the authors of devastation should also be innocent. It is the innocence which constitutes the crime.

This innocent country set you down in a ghetto in which, in fact, it intended that you should perish.

The limits to your ambition were thus expected to be settled. You were born into a society which spelled out with brutal clarity and in as many ways as possible that you were a worthless human being. You were not expected to aspire to excellence. You were expected to make peace with mediocrity. Wherever you have turned, James, in your short time on this earth, you have been told where you could go and what you could do and how you could do it, where you could live and whom you could marry.

Please try to remember that what they believe, as well as what they do and cause you to endure, does not testify to your inferiority, but to their inhumanity and fear.

The really terrible thing, old buddy, is that you must accept them, and I mean that very seriously. You must accept them and accept them with love, for these innocent people have no other hope. They are in effect still trapped in a history which they do not understand and until they understand it, they cannot be released from it.

Many of them indeed know better, but as you will discover, people find it very difficult to act on what they know. To act is to be committed and to be committed is to be in danger. 

Try to imagine how you would feel if you woke up one morning to find the sun shivering and all the stars aflame. You would be frightened because it is out of the order of nature. Any upheaval in the universe is terrifying because it so profoundly attacks one’s sense of one’s own reality. 

We cannot be free until they are free.

If we do not now dare everything the fulfillment of that prophecy recreated from the Bible in a song by a slave is upon us. God gave Noah the rainbow sign, no more water, the fire next time.

James Baldwin

 unpack what makes Spinoza think such intuitive knowledge is even possible and why he thinks most people rarely achieve it.


Great—this goes right to the heart of why the Ethics is both austere and strangely hopeful.

I’ll take the two parts in order, but you’ll see they’re tightly connected.


I. Why Spinoza thinks intuitive knowledge is even possible

At first glance, scientia intuitiva sounds implausible: how could a finite mind grasp itself and other singular things “under the aspect of eternity”? Spinoza’s answer depends on three structural commitments of his system.

1. The mind is already in God

For Spinoza, the human mind is a mode of God’s attribute of thought (Ethics II, prop. 11). This is not metaphorical. It means:

  • Every idea in your mind is literally a part of God’s infinite thinking.

  • Adequate ideas are ideas God has insofar as he constitutes your mind.

So intuitive knowledge is not a matter of reaching up to God.
It is a matter of becoming aware of what the mind already is.

The possibility is built into the ontology: if the mind were outside God, intuition would be impossible; since it is in God, intuition is latent.

2. Adequate ideas are self-validating

Spinoza rejects the need for an external criterion of truth. An adequate idea “agrees with its object” and also shows its own truth (Ethics II, prop. 43).

This matters because intuitive knowledge is not inferred step by step. It is:

  • a direct grasp of causal dependence,

  • accompanied by certainty that does not need proof.

Reason shows that things follow from God.
Intuition sees how this thing does.

3. Eternity is not endless time

A crucial move: eternity ≠ infinite duration (Ethics I, def. 8).

Eternity means:

  • existence conceived through essence alone,

  • not measured by before and after.

Your body is temporal.
But the essence of your mind—what it is to be this mode of thought—can be understood eternally.

Intuitive knowledge does not require escaping time; it requires changing the way time is conceived.

4. The mind can form adequate ideas of itself

Spinoza insists that the mind can have adequate ideas of:

  • its own essence,

  • its own power of understanding,

  • and its place in the causal order (Ethics V, props. 21–23).

Once the mind understands itself adequately, it necessarily understands itself as an expression of God. At that point, intuitive knowledge is not an extra achievement—it is a transformation of self-understanding.


II. Why most people rarely achieve it

If intuitive knowledge is structurally possible, why is it so rare? Spinoza’s answer is not elitist in the usual sense; it is psychological and political.

1. Imagination dominates ordinary life

Most people live primarily in the first kind of knowledge:

  • they experience things as contingent,

  • they interpret events through hope and fear,

  • they explain causes through final ends (“this happened for a reason”).

This mode of understanding is constantly reinforced by daily life, language, religion, and politics. Imagination is not a failure—it’s how finite beings survive—but it keeps attention fixed on particulars as temporal and personal, not as necessary.

Intuition requires loosening that grip.

2. The affects resist understanding

Passive affects are self-reinforcing:

  • fear seeks that which justifies fear,

  • resentment feeds on injury,

  • hope depends on uncertainty.

Even reason threatens these affects; intuition dissolves them. So there is internal resistance. Spinoza thinks people often avoid adequate understanding because it undermines ingrained emotional structures.

This is why superstition persists even when better explanations are available.

3. Social conditions work against it

Spinoza is blunt: political and religious institutions often depend on ignorance.

  • Obedience is easier to secure through fear than understanding.

  • Theological language encourages anthropomorphic images of God.

  • Moral systems built on reward and punishment reinforce imagination.

A life that makes intuitive knowledge possible requires:

  • leisure,

  • security,

  • relative freedom of thought,

  • and emotional stability.

These are historically rare.

4. Reason itself is already demanding

Even the second kind of knowledge is uncommon. Most people never fully acquire stable common notions or consistently adequate ideas. Since intuitive knowledge presupposes reason, its rarity is compounded.

Spinoza never suggests that everyone can—or will—reach blessedness. He thinks human lives differ greatly in power (potentia), and understanding follows that power.

5. Intuition cannot be commanded

This is perhaps the deepest point.

Intuitive knowledge is not a technique, practice, or method you can simply apply. It arises when:

  • adequate ideas become sufficiently integrated,

  • the mind understands itself as their cause,

  • and joy accompanies that understanding.

You cannot decide to intuit. You can only live in ways that make it more likely.


III. The quiet radicalism

What’s striking is how unspectacular Spinoza makes the highest human good.

No visions.
No miracles.
No rupture with nature.

Blessedness is just the mind understanding itself truthfully—and feeling joy in that truth.

Most people don’t reach it not because it’s supernatural, but because it requires a kind of life—intellectually, emotionally, socially—that is hard to sustain.

If you want, next we could look at whether Spinoza himself thought he had achieved intuitive knowledge—or whether Ethics is meant to induce it rather than describe it.



look at whether Spinoza himself thought he had achieved intuitive knowledge and whether Ethics is meant to induce it rather than describe it.

This is one of the most interesting—and revealing—questions you can ask about Spinoza, because the text itself never settles it explicitly. You have to triangulate from tone, structure, and a few very careful remarks.

I’ll take the two parts together, since Spinoza’s own stance and the Ethics’ function turn out to be inseparable.


I. Did Spinoza think he had achieved intuitive knowledge?

Short answer: probably yes—but cautiously, impersonally, and without any appeal to authority.

1. The conspicuous absence of first-person testimony

Spinoza never says “I have attained blessedness” or “I intuit God.” This is deliberate. Such claims would:

  • invite authority-based belief (which he despised),

  • provoke theological hostility,

  • and undermine the impersonality of demonstration.

For Spinoza, truth does not gain weight from who says it.

But the absence of confession is not the absence of conviction.

2. The confidence of Part V

Part V of the Ethics has a noticeably different tone:

  • arguments are shorter,

  • demonstrations lean heavily on previously established propositions,

  • conclusions are stated with unusual serenity and finality.

When Spinoza writes things like

“We feel and experience that we are eternal” (Ethics V, prop. 23, schol.),
he is not offering a hypothesis. He is reporting something presented as phenomenologically available.

The “we” is doing work here—but it is a didactic we, not merely rhetorical.

3. Intellectual love of God as an achieved standpoint

Spinoza claims that:

  • the intellectual love of God is eternal (Ethics V, prop. 33),

  • it cannot be destroyed with the body (prop. 23),

  • and it constitutes the mind’s highest perfection.

These are not framed as distant ideals. They are presented as consequences of understanding—understanding Spinoza appears to possess in order to articulate them coherently.

Most interpreters think Spinoza regarded intuitive knowledge not as a permanent mystical state, but as something intermittently achieved. That fits his psychology: the finite mind fluctuates in power.

So the best reading is: Spinoza believed he had intuitive knowledge at times, without claiming unbroken blessedness.


II. Is the Ethics meant to induce intuitive knowledge rather than merely describe it?

Yes—and this is arguably the key to the book.

1. The geometrical method is not neutral

The more geometrico style is often read as cold or rigid. But its function is deeply practical:

  • it trains the reader to follow necessity,

  • it suppresses imaginative associations,

  • it forces attention away from personal narratives and toward causal structure.

Reading the Ethics properly is already an exercise in reason. It disciplines the mind into adequacy.

2. The reader is being re-formed, not informed

Spinoza does not argue for intuitive knowledge in the abstract. He builds the reader toward a point where intuitive insight becomes possible.

By the time you reach Part V, you have been led to see:

  • that everything follows from God’s nature,

  • that the mind is part of that order,

  • that joy accompanies adequate understanding,

  • and that eternity is not duration.

At that point, certain propositions no longer function as descriptions—they function as occasions.

The book cannot give you intuitive knowledge. But it can put your mind in a position where it may occur.

3. Why Spinoza refuses to “teach” intuition directly

Spinoza never gives instructions like “now intuit this.” That would contradict his system:

  • intuition cannot be commanded,

  • it cannot be transmitted by testimony,

  • and it cannot be verified externally.

The Ethics therefore does something subtler: it removes obstacles—false ideas, emotional confusions, anthropomorphic habits—until the mind can see for itself.

4. The final proposition is performative

The last line of the Ethics is famous:

“All things excellent are as difficult as they are rare.”

This is not a moral exhortation. It is a quiet acknowledgment of limits—human limits, historical limits, affective limits.

But it is also a kind of reassurance: rarity does not mean impossibility.


III. A suggestive way to read the Ethics

One compelling interpretation is this:

  • Parts I–II: de-theologize the world

  • Parts III–IV: de-moralize the emotions

  • Part V: reorient self-experience

The book does not say, “Here is blessedness.”
It tries to make the reader capable of recognizing it if it occurs.

Whether Spinoza thought you would achieve intuitive knowledge is another matter. He was not optimistic about humanity in general. But he did think that a text, rigorously constructed and patiently read, could sometimes tip a mind over a threshold.

If you want, we could end by asking whether this makes Spinoza closer to a philosopher, a therapist, or a quiet spiritual writer who refused the language of spirituality.



Happy to. You’re right to flag this as a “big if true,” because if Spinoza’s claims hold, they quietly overturn a lot of familiar assumptions about knowledge, certainty, and spirituality. I’ll go slowly and structurally, and I’ll stay close to the Ethics so you can see exactly how the pieces lock together.


I. The metaphysical setup that makes intuition possible at all

Everything here depends on Spinoza’s ontology. Without it, the epistemology looks mystical or confused; with it, it becomes almost inevitable.

1. God as the only substance

Spinoza’s God is not a supernatural person but substance itself: that which exists in itself and is conceived through itself (Ethics I, def. 3).

Key consequences:

  • There is only one substance (Ethics I, prop. 14).

  • Everything that exists is in God and conceived through God (I, prop. 15).

  • Finite things (you, trees, planets) are not substances but modes—ways God is expressed under certain attributes.

This already dissolves the usual inside/outside picture:

  • Minds are not created by God and then set loose.

  • Minds are modifications of God’s activity.


II. The mind is literally in God (not metaphorically)

2. Attributes and parallelism

God has infinitely many attributes, but humans know only two:

  • Thought

  • Extension

Each attribute expresses God’s essence in a complete and self-contained way.

Crucially:

  • There is no causal interaction between attributes.

  • The same thing is expressed under different attributes.

This yields parallelism (Ethics II, prop. 7):

“The order and connection of ideas is the same as the order and connection of things.”

So:

  • A body is a mode of Extension.

  • The mind is the idea of that body under Thought (II, prop. 13).

There is not a mind attached to a body.
There is one thing, expressed two ways.


3. Why your mind must be in God

Now the key proposition you quoted:

Ethics II, prop. 11

“The first thing that constitutes the actual being of a human mind is the idea of a singular thing which actually exists.”

That “singular thing” is your body.

But where does that idea exist?

Spinoza’s answer:

  • All ideas exist in God insofar as God is a thinking thing (II, prop. 3).

  • Finite minds are parts of God’s infinite intellect, not separate intellects.

So:

  • Your mind is not contained in God spatially.

  • Your mind is God thinking in a certain determinate way.

This is why your earlier summary is not poetic exaggeration:

Every idea in your mind is literally a part of God’s infinite thinking.

Spinoza says this explicitly in II, prop. 11, corollary:

“The human mind is part of the infinite intellect of God.”

If the mind were outside God, knowledge of God would require a bridge.
Since the mind is in God, knowledge of God is structurally possible.


III. Adequate ideas: what they are and why they don’t need external validation

4. What “adequate” means

An idea is adequate when:

  • It has all the properties of a true idea in itself (Ethics II, def. 4).

  • It expresses its cause completely, not partially or confusedly.

Inadequate ideas arise when:

  • The mind perceives things only through the effects on its body.

  • The causal chain is truncated from the mind’s point of view.

Adequacy is internal completeness, not correspondence checked from outside.


5. Why Spinoza rejects external criteria of truth

This is where Spinoza breaks sharply with both empiricism and rationalism as usually understood.

Ethics II, prop. 43:

“He who has a true idea knows at the same time that he has a true idea, and cannot doubt the truth of the thing.”

Why?

Because:

  • Truth is not a property added to ideas.

  • Truth is the idea’s internal coherence with its cause.

Spinoza’s famous line:

“Truth is its own standard, as falsity is of falsity.”

If you needed an external test of truth, you’d need:

  • A second idea to validate the first,

  • Then a third to validate the second,

  • And so on infinitely.

So instead:

  • An adequate idea shows itself as adequate by its clarity, necessity, and causal transparency.

This is not psychological confidence.
It is structural completeness.


IV. Intuitive knowledge (scientia intuitiva): what makes it distinct

6. The three kinds of knowledge

Spinoza distinguishes:

  1. Imagination

    • Fragmentary, passive, bodily.

    • Source of error and confusion.

  2. Reason

    • Knowledge through common notions and deduction.

    • Sees necessary relations but still stepwise.

  3. Intuitive knowledge

    • Immediate grasp of a thing through its cause.

    • From God’s essence → to the essence of the thing.

Ethics II, prop. 40, scholium 2 is decisive here.


7. What intuition actually “sees”

Intuition is not:

  • A mystical vision,

  • A leap beyond reason,

  • A special faculty added on top of thinking.

It is:

  • The mind operating as a mode of God’s intellect rather than as a passive receiver of bodily impressions.

In intuition:

  • You do not infer that something follows from God.

  • You see how it follows.

This is why your summary was right:

Reason shows that things follow from God.
Intuition sees how this thing does.

The difference is not speed but mode of causation:

  • Reason works through mediate causes.

  • Intuition apprehends the thing as a necessary expression of divine nature.


V. Why intuition is possible at all

Now the “big if true” part resolves cleanly.

Intuition is possible because:

  1. The mind is already in God.

  2. Adequate ideas are already divine ideas.

  3. Knowledge is not climbing upward but self-recognition.

Spinoza says this outright in Ethics V:

  • The more the mind understands things under the form of eternity (sub specie aeternitatis),

  • The more it participates in God’s infinite intellect,

  • Which it never actually left.

So intuition is not transcendence.
It is immanence becoming conscious of itself.


VI. What this commits Spinoza to (and what it doesn’t)

It commits him to:

  • No gap between metaphysics and epistemology.

  • No radical skepticism once adequacy is achieved.

  • No supernatural intervention in knowledge.

It does not commit him to:

  • Easy intuition (it’s rare and fragile).

  • Personal immortality of the imagination.

  • A God who chooses to reveal truth.

Intuition is difficult not because it’s alien,
but because we are usually distracted by partial causation.


VII. Why this still matters

If Spinoza is right, then:

  • Certainty is possible without authoritarian foundations.

  • Spiritual insight does not require belief in miracles.

  • Ethics follows directly from understanding reality, not obedience.

And most provocatively:

  • The highest knowledge is not escape from the world,

  • but seeing this world as necessary, intelligible, and divine.

If you want, next steps could be:

  • A worked example of intuitive knowledge (Spinoza gives a few hints).

  • How this avoids collapsing into quietism or fatalism.

  • Or how later thinkers (Hegel, Deleuze) radicalize this structure.

Just say where you want to push.


A worked example of intuitive knowledge (Spinoza gives a few hints).

Good choice. This is where Spinoza stops sounding like a system-builder and starts sounding almost… dangerous. I’ll give you one canonical worked example, then two extensions (one metaphysical, one ethical), all explicitly tied to Spinoza’s text. I’ll also flag exactly where intuition differs from reason in the experience of knowing, not just in description.


I. Spinoza’s own clearest example: the proportion case

Spinoza’s most explicit illustration appears in Ethics II, prop. 40, scholium 2. It looks trivial at first; it isn’t.

The setup

You’re given three numbers:

  • 1

  • 2

  • 3

You are asked: what is the fourth proportional?

Reason’s route

By reason, you proceed step by step:

  • 1 is to 2 as 3 is to x

  • Therefore x = 6

This uses:

  • A general rule about proportions

  • Previously learned relations

  • Mediate inference

It’s correct. It’s adequate. But it is discursive.


Intuition’s route

Spinoza says that someone experienced in ratios may immediately see that the fourth is 6, without moving through the rule.

Key point:
They do not guess.
They do not infer.
They see the ratio itself instantiated.

Spinoza’s claim is that this “seeing”:

  • Is knowledge of the singular case

  • Through its internal necessity

  • Not through a universal applied from outside

That is the formal structure of intuitive knowledge.


Why this counts as intuition for Spinoza

Because:

  • The relation is grasped as such, not as an instance of a law.

  • The cause of the truth is transparent in the idea itself.

  • No further validation is required.

This is not about speed.
It’s about where the necessity is located:

  • Reason: necessity is mediated by a general concept.

  • Intuition: necessity is intrinsic to the thing seen.


II. Extending the structure: an ontological example (a finite thing)

Now let’s scale this up to something closer to Spinoza’s metaphysics.

The object: a human emotion (say, anger)

Reason’s knowledge

By reason, you know:

  • Anger is caused by an external body affecting your body.

  • It follows the laws of nature.

  • It is necessary given prior causes.

This already dissolves moral blame and confusion.
But it remains general.


Intuitive knowledge

In intuition, you grasp:

  • This anger,

  • At this moment,

  • In this body,

  • As following necessarily from:

    • Your bodily constitution,

    • The external encounter,

    • The infinite chain of causes expressing God’s nature.

Crucially:

  • You do not merely affirm “this had a cause.”

  • You see how it had to be this way.

Spinoza’s phrase here is sub specie aeternitatis:

  • You grasp the essence of the emotion

  • As an eternal mode of God’s power

  • Expressed through you now

This is why, in Ethics V, understanding an affect destroys its passive force.


What changes phenomenologically

The anger does not vanish because you suppress it.
It loosens because:

  • It is no longer experienced as a brute interruption.

  • It is re-experienced as intelligible necessity.

That re-experiencing is intuitive knowledge.


III. The deepest case: intuitive knowledge of yourself

This is Spinoza’s most radical claim, and he barely spells it out—but it’s there.

Reason’s self-knowledge

By reason, you know:

  • You are a finite mode.

  • Your mind is the idea of your body.

  • You depend on God for existence and action.

All correct.


Intuition’s self-knowledge

In intuition, you grasp:

  • This mind,

  • As it is now thinking,

  • As a determinate expression of God’s infinite intellect.

You do not think about your dependence.
You think from within it.

Spinoza hints at this in Ethics V, prop. 36:

“The mind’s intellectual love of God is the very love with which God loves himself.”

That sentence only makes sense if:

  • The adequate idea you have of yourself

  • Is literally a divine idea

  • Becoming conscious of itself in finite form

This is not mysticism in Spinoza’s sense.
It is metaphysical reflexivity.


IV. Why this is not just “strong reasoning”

Here’s the crucial diagnostic difference.

ReasonIntuition
Universal → particularCause → expression
MediateImmediate
DiscursiveNon-discursive
Applies rulesSees necessity
Thinks about GodThinks as a mode of God’s intellect

Both are adequate.
Only intuition is self-grounding in the strongest sense.


V. Why intuition yields joy and freedom

Spinoza insists that intuitive knowledge:

  • Increases the mind’s power to act,

  • Produces active joy,

  • Culminates in the intellectual love of God.

Why?

Because:

  • To see yourself as necessary

  • Is to cease fighting reality

  • Without becoming passive

Freedom, for Spinoza, is not the power to do otherwise.
It is the power to understand why this is so.


VI. The quiet bombshell

Here’s the implication Spinoza never shouts:

If intuitive knowledge is possible,
then the highest form of human consciousness
is not projection toward transcendence,
but immanent self-recognition of the infinite in the finite.

No ladder.
No veil.
No revelation.

Just understanding—complete enough to be its own proof.

If you want, next we can:

  • Walk through a day-to-day micro-example (fear, desire, decision),

  • Compare this to mystical intuition (and why Spinoza rejects that framing),

  • Or trace how Deleuze turns this into a theory of immanence and power.

Where do you want to press next?

* Being speaks through many registers—ritual, myth, land, trauma, silence.

Can you say more about what he says about this?

Yes—and this is really the heart of Akómoláfé’s intervention.

When Akómoláfé suggests that “being speaks through many registers—ritual, myth, land, trauma, silence”, he is deliberately unsettling the modern assumption that language = propositional speech or text. For him, what we usually call “language” is only one narrow band in a much wider ecology of sense-making.

I’ll unfold this in layers, because he is doing several things at once.


1. Language as a response to a speaking world

Akómoláfé often flips the usual directionality:

  • Not humans speaking about the world

  • But the world speaking through humans (and beyond them)

In this view:

  • Language is not primarily expressive.

  • It is responsive.

Rituals, myths, bodily symptoms, breakdowns, ecological collapse—these are not “non-linguistic phenomena” waiting to be interpreted. They are already communicative events. Human speech is only one possible translation layer.

This resonates with Heidegger’s idea that language “calls” us into disclosure, but Akómoláfé strips it of its Eurocentric abstraction and roots it in planetary disturbance and ancestral memory.


2. Ritual as grammar

When Akómoláfé speaks of ritual as a linguistic register, he is not being metaphorical.

Ritual:

  • structures time (repetition, pause, return),

  • establishes syntax (sequence, threshold, inversion),

  • and produces meaning without explanation.

In ritual, meaning does not emerge through definition but through participation. You do not “understand” a ritual first and then enact it; enactment is understanding.

This is why he often says that modernity’s obsession with explanation has severed us from other grammars of sense—grammars that require attunement rather than mastery.


3. Myth as ontological speech, not fiction

For Akómoláfé, myth is not a symbolic story layered on top of reality.

Myth is:

  • a way reality speaks about itself,

  • a compression of cosmological, ethical, and ecological insight.

This aligns with Mircea Eliade and Lévi-Strauss, but Akómoláfé departs from them by insisting that myths are still active, still speaking—especially at moments of civilizational crisis.

Modernity calls myth “pre-rational.”
Akómoláfé treats myth as post-rational: what returns when linear reason breaks down.


4. Land as a speaking body

One of his most radical claims is that land is not mute.

Land speaks through:

  • erosion,

  • drought,

  • infertility,

  • displacement,

  • haunting,

  • resistance to extraction.

This is close to Indigenous epistemologies where land is a participant in meaning-making, but Akómoláfé adds a disturbing twist: the land’s speech today is often traumatic.

Climate crisis, migration, extinction—these are not just “problems to solve.” They are utterances. To treat them only as data is to miss their linguistic force.


5. Trauma as a breakdown that communicates

Akómoláfé frequently frames trauma as a failure of existing language systems.

Trauma speaks:

  • through repetition,

  • through silence,

  • through the body,

  • through incoherence.

Rather than seeing trauma as something that prevents speech, he treats it as a different kind of speech act—one that refuses smooth narration.

Here he intersects with:

  • psychoanalysis,

  • but also decolonial thought, where colonial trauma produces epistemic rupture rather than mere suffering.

Trauma, for him, is the world insisting that the old stories no longer hold.


6. Silence as articulation, not absence

Perhaps most counterintuitive: silence is not the opposite of language.

Silence can be:

  • refusal,

  • mourning,

  • gestation,

  • reverence,

  • an ethical pause.

Akómoláfé often critiques the compulsion to “say something useful,” to produce clarity, solutions, or optimism. Silence becomes a way of allowing the world’s excess—what cannot yet be named—to remain present.

This is why he often speaks slowly, pauses, or leaves questions unresolved. The form of his speech enacts his philosophy.


7. What this does to philosophy of language

If you take Akómoláfé seriously, then:

  • Language is not primarily semantic → it is relational

  • Meaning is not produced by humans alone → it is distributed

  • Communication is not about transfer of information → it is world reconfiguration

In other words, language becomes cosmopolitical: it is how worlds negotiate their continued existence.


8. A concise formulation (very Akómoláfé-esque)

You might summarize his position like this:

Language is what happens when the world cannot continue as it is and begins to experiment—with bodies, with stories, with ruptures, with silences—in search of other futures.

If you want, next we could:

  • contrast this sharply with analytic philosophy of language (Frege, Grice),

  • connect it to Sylvia Wynter’s critique of “Man” and epistemic overrepresentation,

  • or explore what this means for writing, scholarship, or political action today.

do you think he should be taken seriously?

Short answer: yes, but not in the way we usually mean by “taking a thinker seriously.”

Longer, more careful answer 👇


1. What “taking seriously” usually means—and why that’s already the wrong test

In academic philosophy, taking someone seriously often means asking:

  • Are their claims precise?

  • Can they be formalized?

  • Do they generate testable arguments?

  • Can they be situated cleanly in an existing discourse?

By those standards, Akómoláfé can look suspect:

  • He resists definition.

  • He speaks metaphorically, ritually, sometimes elliptically.

  • He refuses to stabilize his concepts.

But here’s the key thing: that refusal is not a bug; it’s the point.

So the real question isn’t “Is he rigorous in the conventional sense?”
It’s “What kind of rigor is he practicing?”


2. He is not doing theory; he is doing ontological intervention

Akómoláfé is not trying to:

  • propose a model of language,

  • compete with analytic philosophy,

  • or offer a new explanatory framework.

He is trying to interrupt a dominant mode of sense-making.

That places him closer to:

  • Frantz Fanon,

  • Sylvia Wynter,

  • Gloria Anzaldúa,

  • Édouard Glissant,
    than to, say, Davidson or Searle.

These thinkers are serious not because they give neat answers, but because they diagnose a crisis of knowing itself.

Akómoláfé’s wager is this:

the crises we face (ecological, political, psychic) are not solvable with better explanations, because explanation itself has become part of the problem.

If that diagnosis is even partly right, then dismissing him for lack of clarity would be like criticizing a fire alarm for not being a symphony.


3. Is there substance beneath the poetics?

Yes—but it’s distributed, not centralized.

His work draws coherently from:

  • process philosophy,

  • phenomenology,

  • Indigenous epistemologies,

  • posthumanism,

  • decolonial theory,

  • psychoanalysis,

  • ecology.

What he does is compose these rather than systematize them.

That means:

  • you won’t get definitions you can quote cleanly,

  • but you will get conceptual pressure placed exactly where modern thought is brittle:
    agency, language, progress, solutionism, the human.

Many people mistake this compositional style for vagueness. It’s more accurate to call it deliberate indeterminacy—a refusal to close questions too quickly.


4. The strongest reason to take him seriously

He is serious because he is willing to let his thought be changed by what it encounters.

Most theory today still assumes:

  • the thinker stands outside the problem,

  • clarity is always an ethical good,

  • solutions are the goal.

Akómoláfé refuses all three.

Instead, he asks:

  • What if thinking is something the world does with us, not something we do to it?

  • What if clarity can sometimes be violent?

  • What if staying with confusion is a form of care?

Even if you ultimately disagree, those are non-trivial challenges to the foundations of modern philosophy.


5. The fairest criticism

There are legitimate critiques:

  • His work can be inaccessible.

  • It risks being absorbed as aesthetic mood rather than ethical demand.

  • Some audiences treat his language as consolation rather than provocation.

  • He does not always distinguish clearly between metaphor and ontology.

But notice: these are critiques about how his work is received, not about whether it is empty.


6. So: how should he be taken seriously?

Not as:

  • a theorist to be extracted for concepts,

  • a guru with answers,

  • or a replacement for empirical analysis.

But as:

  • a threshold thinker,

  • someone working at the limits of language where inherited categories fail,

  • a reminder that thinking is not only about correctness, but about response-ability.

A good test is this:

After encountering his work, do your habits of explanation feel less secure?

If yes, then something serious has happened.

If you want, next we could:

  • articulate a strong skeptical critique of Akómoláfé,

  • compare him directly to Wynter or Fanon on epistemic rupture,

  • or ask whether his work risks political quietism.

Those are the kinds of questions that really take him seriously.

Short answer: aiming for ~0.27 as a directional target is reasonable; treating it like a sacred quest number is how policy brains melt. Lo...