One of the central dilemmas that has long haunted modern African philosophy is its derivative posture, its tendency to emerge in response to the overwhelming intellectual dominance of Western philosophy rather than from internal cultural imperatives. At first glance, the term ‘derivative’ appears unfair. After all, no philosophical tradition emerges in a vacuum. Greek philosophy, long celebrated as the bedrock of Western thought, drew significantly from Egyptian, Babylonian, and Indian sources.[1] To expect African philosophy to evolve in splendid isolation is to impose a mythic standard of intellectual purity that no tradition has ever met.
The concern, however, is not just about evolution but posture. Modern African philosophy has too often adopted a reactive posture. To be fair, this reactive phase was historically necessary for several reasons: first, to affirm that African peoples are indeed capable of philosophical thought; second, to challenge the notion that philosophy is confined to written traditions; and third, to respond to the legacy of ethnophilosophy and its infantilisation of African thought. But, while these interventions were vital, they have sometimes eclipsed the more serious questions into what African thought is philosophically committed to in its own right, apart from the scars of its historical experience. To disregard the significance of this reactive phase would be intellectually irresponsible, especially given the violence of Africa’s colonial encounter. Still, if philosophy is to remain, as Paulin Hountondji insists, a “living tradition”[2]— critical, interrogative, and dialogical—then African philosophy must go beyond the grammar of resistance. It must articulate itself not just in opposition to the West, but as a complete participant in the global philosophical conversation, rooted in its own concepts, concerns, and visions of human life.
It makes sense, from a philosophical point of view, to say that the early steps of modern African philosophy were, almost unavoidably, focused on restoring African episteme. After the damaging effects of colonialism, the challenge was not just to think, but to reclaim the very capacity for thought that was systematically denied to African peoples by canonical figures of Western philosophy. Thinkers like Durkheim, Lévy-Bruhl, and Frazer viewed African societies through the lenses of pathology, irrationality, or primitivism (as noted by V.Y Mudimbe).[3] Hegel went even further to openly exclude Africa from the conceptual map of universal history, portraying the continent as ahistorical, pre-logical, and devoid of rational development. For Hegel, Africa—or “Africa proper,” as he termed it—could never be a co-constitutive agent in the evolution of reason.[4] In response, African philosophers engaged in a counter-hegemonic (and other) projects to affirm the coherence and rationality of African thought systems. But it seems this philosophical recovery came at a cost. The terrain into which African philosophers intervened was already saturated with Eurocentric assumptions, which meant their efforts were often framed in reactive and sometimes even apologetic terms. Thus, early African philosophy wasn’t so much about coming up with new ideas as it was about responding to being left out. By trying to prove itself within the rules set by others, it ended up reinforcing the same limits that had excluded it in the first place, instead of creating a new path on its own.
One need only look into the works of the most celebrated figures in the canon of African philosophy. These thinkers, though revered as custodians of the philosophical awakening of the continent, have, in their efforts to deconstruct Western misrepresentations, found themselves trapped in the very frameworks they sought to resist. Their writings often orbit around the gravitational pull of Western categories, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to fully depart from them. In surveying their contributions, one is compelled to ask whether the act of critique has been too readily equated with the act of philosophising. Indeed, this is not to undermine their contributions, but to question whether African philosophy remains too shaped by its anxious engagement with the Western gaze.
Oxford-educated and Ghanaian philosopher Kwasi Wiredu is arguably the most prominent figure in the development of African philosophy. Through his intellectual efforts, Wiredu sought to articulate a fully emancipated and widely accepted African philosophical tradition. But a closer examination of his works shows something emblematic of a broader structural problem in the discipline, as previously noted. In exploration of Wiredu’s project, one can clearly see the lacuna that stems from the methodological framework African philosophy adopted in its foundational decades. His work, though ambitious, often appears more deconstructive than constructive. Even when attempting to advance thematic or substantive contributions, Wiredu remains firmly situated within frameworks either inherited from or reacting to European philosophical categories. In this sense, Wiredu’s philosophical method is defined by what one might call ‘philosophical comparativism’—a practice that places African ideas side by side with Western ones, ostensibly to clarify both.
For example, in one of the essays anthologised in his 1996 book Cultural Universals and Particulars: An African Perspective, Wiredu offers a compelling reconstruction of traditional Akan metaphysical thought, positioning it as a serious philosophical alternative to dominant Western-Christian ontology. He begins, in discussing the Akan conception of God[5], by refuting ex nihilo creator (a being who creates out of nothing), and fronts rather a being who brings form and order out of pre-existing, indeterminate material. Wiredu demonstrates that this difference is not just theological but deeply metaphysical and linguistic. Indeed, he uses the Akan language as a source of philosophical insight. In Akan, to exist is to wo ho—to be “there,” in some place. Existence is thus fundamentally locative. There is no meaningful concept of being without spatial situatedness. As a result, even God must exist somewhere, within a cosmological framework. The notion of absolute nothingness, central to Western metaphysical and theological thought, is unintelligible within the Akan worldview. As Wiredu writes: “The conceptual problems besetting the [Akan view of creation] pale into insignificance in the face of those afflicting the [Christian] notion of creation out of nothing.”[6]
Yet tellingly, Wiredu does not begin by unfolding a systematic theological cosmology grounded in the ritual, poetic, or mythic life of the Akan people. Rather, the analysis begins with a refutation; a move that signals a fundamentally defensive posture. The value of the Akan view is articulated negatively, as a lesser incoherence. It is not presented as an autonomous cosmology capable of generating new metaphysical, ethical, or political insights beyond its comparative resistance to Western theological excesses.
Further, Wiredu frequently emphasises that his arguments are “intelligible in both English and Akan discourse”[7], as though African concepts only gain legitimacy when they are translatable into Western logical categories. This search for cross-cultural intelligibility may make Wiredu’s arguments palatable to an academic audience in Oxford or Harvard, but it also risks marginalising indigenous epistemic standards, such as performativity and ritual efficacy, none of which fit easily into the analytic paradigm Wiredu so clearly inhabits.
As if this is not enough, Wiredu extends this reactive orientation in his systematic rejection of the Cartesian mind-body dualism. The Akan language, he explains, does not conceptualise the mind (adwene) as an immaterial substance. Instead, adwene refers to ‘mental functions’ (the capacity to think, feel, imagine, and reason) rather than to a metaphysical entity separable from the body. Sensations divorced from intentionality, Wiredu notes, are not even counted as mental phenomena in Akan thought—a point that subtly undercuts the empiricist tradition of Locke and Hume.
“There is not even the possibility, short of a linguistic revolution, of identifying the adwene [mind] with a Cartesian spiritual substance.”[8]
Here again, African thought is illuminated only in opposition to a European metaphysical framework. But what if Descartes had never existed? Would we still understand adwene the same way? And more importantly, would Wiredu have felt the need to develop a theory of personhood at all, or would the discussion have followed the logic of indigenous existential concerns like ancestral continuity, ritual order, rites of passage, and community embeddedness?
Wiredu’s account of Akan personhood is undoubtedly rich, but again, its uniqueness is not developed on its own terms. He spends an extraordinary amount of time refuting Western positions, yet he never fully theorises what it would mean to be a ‘person’ in a world where meaning is ritually enacted and socially negotiated.
This critical lens does not fall solely on Wiredu. Congolese philosopher V.Y. Mudimbe, too, devoted much of his intellectual career to examining—and ultimately deconstructing—the very frameworks and epistemes that have historically governed knowledge production about Africa. Mudimbe’s core argument is stark: African philosophy, as articulated within the modern academy, remains inseparable from the “colonial library.” It exists within, not outside, Western epistemological scaffolding.
In his seminal work The Invention of Africa, Mudimbe begins by destabilising the very category of “African philosophy,” choosing instead to speak of “African gnosis”—a term he employs to describe indigenous systems of knowledge that do not conform to the rationalist, discursive norms of Western thought. As he writes:
“I have thus preferred to speak of African gnosis… I am looking upstream of the results, precisely at what makes them possible, before accepting them as commentary on revelation, or restitution, of an African experience”.[9]
To Mudimbe’s credit, he does not exempt himself from the contradictions he critiques. He openly acknowledges that African intellectuals, including himself, have been unable to fully escape what he calls the “colonising structure” of discourse. Indeed, what often masquerades as resistance may, in fact, function as its most sophisticated reproduction. A good example of this appears in his reflection on the work of Marcel Griaule and Dogon astronomy, where the profound esoteric knowledge of the Dogon is dismissed by Western scientists (Carl Sagan among them) as either a hoax or an outcome of European contamination. Mudimbe highlights how, in such cases, the very possibility that African systems might produce genuine knowledge is foreclosed in advance. Africa becomes legible only through the lens of Western scientific validation, and illegible when it claims its own authority.
He writes: “I suppose by now it has become clear how controversial Carl Sagan’s hypothesis is… it reveals in a marvelous way what I shall define…as an epistemological ethnocentrism; namely, the belief that scientifically there is nothing to be learned from ‘them’ unless it is already ‘ours’ or comes from us.”[10]
University of Louisville philosophy professor D.A Masolo and Cameroonian philosopher Achille Mbembe both affirm Mudimbe’s critique of African philosophy’s entanglement with Western epistemologies, but also draw attention to its limitations, particularly its tendency to privilege the Western gaze while sidelining the imperative of African intellectual sovereignty. Masolo observes that “…like most of the powerful structuralist philosophers who have influenced him, Mudimbe gives a brilliant structural historiography… but presents no alternatives to Africans.”[11] Similarly, Mbembe, in On the Postcolony, cautions that “the condition of possibility of African discourse cannot be to endlessly rehearse Western theory as the site of origin,”[12] and goes on to critique what he sees as the melancholic circularity in Mudimbe’s method; a gesture that identifies the violence of epistemic colonisation but fails to chart a credible path out of it.
Interestingly, in drawing attention to this circularity, both Masolo and Mbembe find themselves implicated in the very structure they criticise. In one of the most philosophically ambitious chapters of African Philosophy in Search of Identity, Masolo grapples with a persistent and difficult question: how should African traditional systems of thought be evaluated in relation to the Western tradition of scientific rationality? It is, to be fair, an honest and necessary question. Masolo situates this question within a wider intellectual context spanning anthropology, epistemology, and the philosophy of science. His critique targets the universalist pretensions of Western analytic philosophy, particularly its tendency to treat rationality as a neutral yardstick by which all systems of thought must be measured. For example, Masolo sharply critiques Robin Horton’s rationalistic “reductionism”[13]—the tendency to judge African belief systems solely through the lens of scientific rationality. He regards Horton’s attempt to interpret traditional religion as a kind of proto-science as not only philosophically misguided but also epistemologically violent. Masolo labels this approach “imperialistic,” arguing that it imposes alien standards of intelligibility onto cultural systems that operate within entirely different epistemic and existential frameworks. Such reductionism, he contends, ignores the performative, moral, and communal functions of traditional beliefs; functions that cannot be adequately understood through a purely explanatory or causal lens. In seeking to render African thought legible to Western rationality, the approach ultimately erases the very logics that give such systems their coherence and meaning.
His argument is that Horton’s theory, despite its intention to avoid the pitfall of symbolic reductionism, itself fell into the grip of a rationalist reductionism in treating African belief systems as only explanatory theories.
Unapologetically, Masolo lambasts this form of “scientific totalism” (a stance characteristic of much analytic philosophy) for its attempt to reduce the full range of human thought to theory-making, and then subject those theories to the evaluative criteria of science.
All these expositions by Masolo are understandable. The problem is that he offers no robust alternative standard. He rightly defends the idea that traditional African belief systems should be understood within their own contexts, as frameworks that perform social, ethical, and ritual functions, rather than as systems of detached propositional knowledge. There is, by the way, an example he gives to demonstrate the performative dimensions of language and belief:
“In traditional Luo thought, it is said that ‘Dhok e juok’ (the word is witchcraft). This means that words can carry consequences, can cause harm, and must be uttered with care.”[14].
While the above Luo phrase may indeed shape how individuals behave within society, one must ask: does it describe the truth, explain how the world actually works, or conform to standards of logical reasoning? This raises a crucial challenge to Masolo; namely, the need to distinguish between what functions effectively within a cultural context and what qualifies as epistemically justified knowledge. Masolo, however, tends to blur this line, leaving his position vulnerable to criticism. When a belief is treated as philosophical knowledge without undergoing rigorous critical analysis, it raises important philosophical concerns. If no clear boundary is drawn between what is socially meaningful and what is epistemically justified, then where does that leave African philosophy as a discipline? Is it to be understood primarily as a reflection of cultural practices, or as a critical enterprise concerned with justification and truth? In this ambiguity, one is left to wonder: what, in the end, is Masolo’s own philosophical vision for African thought?
Mbembe’s head might be spared on this scaffold, if only because his work seldom engages directly with traditional African philosophical systems, concepts, or categories. But his heavy overreliance on Western theoretical frameworks may well summon the axe on another day.
Two final figures in this inquiry are Benin’s Paulin Hountondji and Kenya’s Henry Odera Oruka.
Hountondji, in the early polemics of his African Philosophy: Myth and Reality, devotes significant effort critiquing ethnophilosophy, which he condemns as a “false representation”. Ethnophilosophy, according to Hountondji, was “vitiated from the outset” because it misused the word “philosophy,” mistaking collective cultural beliefs for rational, critical systems of thought. Its failure was conceptual, not just political. And so, the crisis of originality in African thought lies in a misdiagnosed project: the desire to prove African identity rather than construct African knowledge. In one of the most decisive theoretical turns, Hountondji redefines African philosophy by taking it out of worldview, to literature—texts written by Africans that make a philosophical claim.
“African philosophy is African philosophical literature,” he writes.[15]
Thus, Hountondji’s philosophy must be individual, conscious, written, and part of an open field of critical debate. He stresses that there is no such thing as a ‘Yoruba philosophy’ any more than there is a ‘German philosophy’ that binds all Germans. What exists are philosophical texts. This move dissolves the notion of collective, unanimous philosophies and repositions African thought within the broader context of global philosophical production.
While Hountondji rightfully dismantles the romantic essentialism of ethnophilosophy, his work, like many of his contemporary, ultimately remains tethered to Western intellectual validation. His response is telling, for philosophical intervention is made within the very discursive space defined by the West. One can clearly see that Hountondji rejects ethnophilosophy not simply because it fails African thought, but because it fails to meet a ‘Western criterion’ of what counts as philosophy. That criterion is literacy, individuality, and critical rationalism, which Hountondji elevates to a near-universal standard. African philosophy, being ‘philosophical literature’, means delimiting the field to written, authorial works by individuals. This only echoes the modernist standards of European thoughts. In this case, Hountondji is trying to reorient African philosophy towards a different form of European recognition.
There is that part in his The Struggle for Meaning where Hountondji introduces a concept he calls “intellectual extroversion”[16]. This, he argues, is the condition in which African intellectuals address themselves to an external audience, often responding to frameworks and problems imposed from abroad. This results in what he calls “epistemological surrender”—a tendency to write and think for Europe, rather than from Africa. The insight is important, indeed, but Hountondji’s own project is not immune to the very extroversion he condemns. It is written as a rebuttal, a defence, a critique. D.A. Masolo notes that this reactive condition “binds the development of African philosophy to a Eurocentric episteme it seeks to escape.”[17] Hountondji recognises this trap but offers no robust alternative. While he calls for “autonomous debate” and epistemic sovereignty, he does not develop a systematic program for how this autonomy might be achieved in conceptual terms.
Kenya’s Henry Odera Oruka does not entirely escape the reactive trap, though there are valid grounds to distinguish him from his contemporaries. In a radical departure from ethnophilosophy, Oruka formulated the concept of “philosophic sagacity” to demonstrate that Africa has long possessed individuals—critical thinkers or “sages”—who engaged in reflective, reasoned, and autonomous philosophical inquiry[18]. Through interviews with these sages, which he transcribed and published, Oruka sought to exhibit the presence of rational discourse embedded within African oral traditions. Unlike Hountondji, whose insistence on written philosophical literature risks sidelining indigenous modes of thought, Oruka’s approach can be seen as a more generous engagement with Africa’s intellectual heritage. His work represents a crucial intermediate step that is neither fully captive to reactive critique nor yet fully committed to constructing original theoretical systems. Rather, it attempts to recover rationality from within African traditions themselves, without reducing them to mere cultural artefacts.
Still, the very project of “Sage Philosophy” was itself framed as a response. Oruka’s aim was not just to explore indigenous thought on its own terms, but to prove, primarily to an external philosophical audience, that Africans were capable of rational reflection in ways comparable to Western thinkers. His typology of “folk sage” versus “philosophic sage” reinforces the familiar binary of myth versus reason, a deeply entrenched distinction in Western philosophy dating back to Plato. In this sense, Sage Philosophy, like Hountondji’s critique, remains ensnared in a justificatory mode, which is more concerned with securing recognition than establishing autonomy.
Moreover, Oruka rarely sought to develop substantive metaphysical, ethical, or political theories from the worldviews of the sages he documented. The sages functioned as sources of philosophical insight, but not as co-authors in the construction of philosophical systems. What Oruka might have done, but ultimately did not, was to take the reflections of a sage like Paul Mbuya or Nyagudi [19] and elaborate from them a structured philosophical argument: a metaphysics of nature, an ethics of community, or an epistemology rooted in oral transmission. Instead of using Western categories as the frame of validation, he could have carved out new conceptual categories grounded in Luo cosmology or African conceptions of time, personhood, and knowledge.
Instead, Oruka’s role remained that of an interviewer and interpreter. A philosophical ethnographer rather than a system-builder. Thus, while his “Sage Philosophy” elevated African individuals as thinkers, Oruka himself did not push far enough into the creative space of original theorising.
As earlier mentioned, raising these questions is not an attempt to dismiss the intellectual labour of Africa’s philosophers. Rather, it is a call to prepare the ground for what must come next. The task before contemporary African philosophers is not to repeat the work of vindication, but to undertake the work of generation. African philosophy must move decisively from the reactive phase.
Kenya’s Reginal M.J Oduor, in his paper Research Methodology in Philosophy within an Interdisciplinary and Commercialised African Context,[20] has offered both diagnosis and direction on this position. He anchors his argument in the long-standing “particularist versus universalist” debate, where he sides firmly with the universalists, asserting that “meaningful dialogue can only be carried out where there is a minimum set of criteria by which various participants in the dialogue can judge what they hear from fellow participants.”[21] In other words, African philosophy must stop acting like an “exception” and begin engaging as an equal.
Crucially, Oduor warns against relativism masquerading as decolonisation. To reject external standards altogether in the name of cultural authenticity, he argues, is to fall into contradiction: “The well known observation that relativism rests on an absolute postulate—that ‘everything is relative’—is relevant in this regard.”[22] African philosophy must not seek immunity from critique under the guise of cultural specificity; rather, it must invite critique as a sign of intellectual seriousness. This point is driven home by Kwasi Wiredu, whom Oduor quotes approvingly:
“To present African philosophy as an untouchable possession of Africans is to invite a touristic approach from its foreign audiences… they might merely be noticed as cultural curiosities.”[23]
Here, the consequence of remaining in a defensive, untouchable stance is that African philosophy risks being reduced to ethnographic spectacle rather than being taken seriously as a contributor to global philosophical discourse.
Oduor goes on to expose the paradox at the heart of this ‘defensive’ posture, arguing that those who champion an “authentic” African philosophy often do so within academic structures, using terminologies, degrees, and platforms imported from the West. He asks sharply, “Why has there been no agitation for African mathematics, African physics or African chemistry, and yet more than half a century has been spent debating the nature of African philosophy?”[24] The point here is not to deny African distinctiveness, but to urge philosophers to move past the endless self-justification and begin to do philosophy in substantive ways.
Ultimately, Oduor calls for the re-orientation of African philosophical inquiry. He writes:
“African scholars of philosophy must now resolutely re-orientate the bulk of their inquiries to other aspects of philosophy… We urgently need many more treatises on logic, epistemology, axiology and metaphysics, hailing from Africa.”[25]
Thus, for African philosophy to mature, it must shift from identity-centred debates to the exploration of fundamental questions about knowledge, value, and reality.
Notes:
[1] See Thomas McEvilley, The Shape of Ancient Thought: Comparative Studies in Greek and Indian Philosophies (New York: Allworth Press, 2002), xxxi, pp. 4; see also Humanities LibreTexts. “4.02: Classical Philosophy.” In Introduction to Philosophy. Last modified July 30, 2025. https://human.libretexts.org/Bookshelves/Philosophy/Introduction_to_Philosophy_(OpenStax)/04%3A_The_Emergence_of_Classical_Philosophy/4.02%3A_Classical_Philosophy. [2] Though Hountondji does not explicitly describe philosophy as a “living tradition,” he presents it as a critical and creative practice, oriented towards interrogating inherited thought and producing original contributions to global discourse. See Paulin J. Hountondji, African Philosophy: Myth and Reality, 2nd ed. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996), 58, 72. [3] V.Y. Mudimbe, The Invention of Africa: Gnosis, Philosophy, and the Order of Knowledge (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988), 21. [4] G.W.F. Hegel, The Philosophy of History, trans. J. Sibree (New York: Dover Publications, 2004), 106–107. [5] Kwasi Wiredu, “The Concept of God as a Cosmic Architect (Rather Than an Ex-nihilo Creator) and Its Ontological Affiliations,” in Cultural Universals and Particulars: An African Perspective (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996), 119–124. While Wiredu analyses the Akan conception of God through a philosophical lens, particularly regarding creation and the locative nature of existence, other scholars offer complementary insights. John S. Mbiti presents Onyame (the Akan Supreme Being) as a moral and relational being integrated into religious and social life (African Religions and Philosophy, 29–32). Kwame Gyekye, though acknowledging the absence of creatio ex nihilo and affirming that existence is invariably spatial in Akan thought, diverges from Wiredu by insisting on the metaphysical and theological depth of the Akan notion of God. For Gyekye, God is not just a cultural or symbolic construct but a morally significant and cosmologically central being, whose attributes and agency provide fertile ground for philosophical theology (An Essay on African Philosophical Thought, 35–38). [6] Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars, 122. [7] Ibid., 123. [8] Ibid., 126. [9] Mudimbe, The Invention of Africa, Introduction, ix. [10] Ibid., 15. [11] D. A. Masolo, African Philosophy in Search of Identity (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 2. [12] The phrase in not a quoted verbatim, but a paraphrased distillation of Mbembe’s broader argument in the Introduction to On the Postcolony. Mbembe argues that postcolonial thought often “ends up identifying the problem [of epistemic domination] without being able to conceptualise a way out”. Achille Mbembe, On the Postcolony (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), Introduction, 5–6. [13] Masolo, African Philosophy in Search of Identity, 124–134. [14] The quoted phrase is a summarised interpretation of Masolo’s original statement: “‘Dhok e juok’ is a Luo saying which translates into something like ‘it is the word which is witchcraft.’ It is used in claims that to talk of a possible event in a certain way may actually cause the event to happen.” Masolo, Africa Philosophy in Search of Identity, 131. [15] Hountondji, African Philosophy: Myth and Reality, 33. [16] See Paulin J. Hountondji, The Struggle for Meaning: Reflections on Philosophy, Culture and Democracy in Africa, trans. John Conteh-Morgan (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 2002), 225–231. [17] Masolo critiques how much of African intellectual practice remains framed by Western epistemological categories, arguing that meaningful African philosophy must break from these “Western conditionings” and reconnect with African lived realities. This paraphrased phrase reflects that concern. See Masolo, African Philosophy in Search of Identity, 147. [18] See H. Odera Oruka, Sage Philosophy: Indigenous Thinkers and Modern Debate on African Philosophy (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 17–22, 33–34, 65–88; see also H. Odera Oruka, “Four Trends in Current African Philosophy,” in Philosophy and Cultures, ed. P. H. Coetzee and A. P. J. Roux (Nairobi: Catholic University of Eastern Africa Publications, 1983), 1–10. [19] See Oruka, Sage Philosophy (Nairobi: ACTS Press, 1991), “Dialogue with Sages” section, 65–131. [20] Reginald M. J. Oduor, “Research Methodology in Philosophy within an Interdisciplinary and Commercialised African Context: Guarding Against Undue Influence from the Social Sciences,” Thought and Practice: A Journal of the Philosophical Association of Kenya 2, no. 1 (June 2010), https://philpapers.org/rec/ODURMI. [21] Oduor, “Research Methodology in Philosophy,” 92. [22] Ibid., 92 [23] Kwasi Wiredu, “Toward Decolonizing African Philosophy and Religion,” African Studies Quarterly 1, no. 4 (1998), quoted in Oduor, “Research Methodology in Philosophy,” 92. [24] Oduor, “Research Methodology in Philosophy,” 92. [25] Ibid., 93.
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