Wrestling with Knowledge: Perspectives from the Wolof Tradition

Text as Performance: Philosophical Meaning in Aesthetic Practice

Monika Rohmer opened the session by summarizing key insights from her lecture: Philosophical texts in Wolof – many of them Sufi poems and narratives – can be read in multiple ways and are deeply embedded in cultural practice. A central aim is to understand how the conceptual field of bëre (wrestling/struggle) connects to modes of philosophizing when we analyze texts in an African language like Wolof. This approach inevitably touches on broader theoretical issues: How do we define “philosophy” across cultures? How do we conceive of knowledge and wisdom? And how do we conduct philosophy with and within non-Western languages?

Rohmer emphasized that speech and embodiment are central elements in the Wolof conception of what a text is and how it should be engaged with. Rohmer played audio and video clips of Wolof chants to show that the recitation of poems is a living tradition and part of everyday life in Senegal. Poems are chanted and listened to at home, in taxis and at public events. These poems contain philosophical insights embedded in popular culture and spiritual practices, continuously reinterpreted in performance. This led to a broader conversation about analogous phenomena in other cultures and the theoretical tools needed to analyze them.

One of the first major questions raised concerned the relationship between text, performance, and philosophical meaning. Rolf Elberfeld asked whether the aesthetic practice of performing Wolof poems and religious texts is a form of philosophizing in itself. He noted that in the case presented, the recitation is clearly an aesthetic practice, but its qualification as philosophical practice has to be shown more explicitly.

Monika Rohmer responded by emphasizing the inseparability of form and content in these works: “These texts were written to be performed.” The meaning of the text cannot be separated from its form, and in this case the form is performance: rhythmic chanting and movement are integral to the message conveyed. Rohmer cited the insight that a text’s import is bound up with its aesthetic expression, a perspective also reflected in Alena Rettová’s research on philosophical literature. In other words, to treat these poems purely as written prose would miss the point; their philosophical significance emerges through live performance, where sound, repetition, and gesture carry meaning.

Abbed Kanoor related Rohmer’s description to Sufi practices in Iran: “In mystical circles… the resonance of the song in the skull and body is much more important than the words used,” he noted. The repeated chanting of divine names or phrases (such as Yā Hū, an invocation of God) with synchronized bodily movements leads to an ecstatic, collective experience. “Through music and bodily practice, they arrive at a form of harmony and collective experience.” This comment underscored how meaning can reside in sonic and physical patterns rather than in semantic content alone, a point highly relevant to the Wolof context where sound-play and rhythm are philosophically significant.

Leon Krings brought in a phenomenological perspective, suggesting that we might interpret these practices with Merleau-Ponty as involving “pre-conceptual generalities.” By this he referred to non-discursive, experiential patterns and styles of performative meaning, the way music, chant, and movement can convey insights or moods that elude conceptual language. Krings compared the Wolof performances first to Persian traditional music (noting a similar intense emotional quality) and then to Buddhist liturgy. In Buddhist sutra chanting, much of the recitation is monotonous, often culminating in a dhāraṇī (mantric formula) where “the sonic effect is more important than the conceptual content.” This sonic efficacy of the chant is supposed to “go beyond the conceptual plane and connect to something that cannot be conceptualized anymore” – an embodied, enactive meaning rather than an intellectual one. 

Abosede Ipadeola commented on an image from Rohmer’s lecture: children watching a wrestling match. Ipadeola, coming from a Yoruba background (where traditional wrestling exists but is not typically a school-sponsored activity), was intrigued. What is the significance of allowing children to watch such matches in Wolof culture? Is it part of their philosophical or ethical education, for example, “to teach bravery, resilience… to show that you have to be strong?” 

Rohmer clarified that the photo actually came from southern Senegal (Casamance), depicting a tournament where girls participate in wrestling, something virtually absent among the Wolof in the north. She included it to provoke reflections about gender in philosophical arenas: “It’s girls wrestling, and this is really one of my open questions… what is the role of women in this philosophical discourse?”. While the presence of children (and girls) at wrestling events may point to communal values like courage and solidarity, Rohmer admitted that this is a topic needing further research. Such research may expand how philosophy, as paideia, can take place in communal spectacles, a point resonating with ancient traditions (e.g. Greek youths watching athletic contests as moral education).

What Makes a Text Philosophical?

Sool Park invited Rohmer to clarify what makes these Wolof performances philosophical in the first place. Given that the group lacked background in Wolof culture, he asked: “Why is this philosophy? What is your criterion to say, this text or this poem is philosophical?” Beyond the analogies and surface similarities to other traditions, how do we know we are dealing with philosophy and not, say, just art or religious ritual?

Monika Rohmer acknowledged that defining “philosophy” across cultures is a delicate task – indeed one of the core issues the center tackles. Rather than impose a rigid definition, she suggested approaching it from two angles. First, she noted a “trope of thinking knowledge” within the Wolof texts: many of these works thematize xam-xam (knowledge) itself, reflecting on wisdom, understanding, and ignorance. Second, Rohmer looked to indigenous intellectual history and the interpretations given by Senegalese authors of their own tradition: “These authors were already discussed as philosophers, or their work as philosophical,” she explained. In Senegal, scholars like Assane Sylla have identified a corpus of Wolofal writings (Wolof poetry in Arabic script) that bear philosophical content. Sylla published four volumes of Wolof texts under the title Poèmes et pensées philosophiques Wolof (first volume published in 1971). 

Therefore, Rohmer argued, her criteria for selecting texts is not arbitrary: the collected texts that either explicitly discuss philosophical concepts (like knowledge, truth, the nature of God, ethical values) or have been recognized by Senegalese philosophers as part of a philosophical tradition. She describes this approach as iterative and open-ended: “I gather texts, and often I have a secondary source saying ‘this is of philosophical value’… then I look at the text myself and see, yes, it has a philosophical argumentation or concept.” Through this, it becomes possible to gradually map a landscape of philosophical texts in Wolof, which in turn sometimes prompts her to look back at Western philosophy with new eyes, such as the debates between Kant and Herder on the definition of philosophy.

Anke Graness asked whether the Wolof texts under discussion are primarily praise (panegyric) literature – for example, poems praising a religious leader – or whether they also function as Lehrgedichte (didactic poems) imparting moral lessons: “Is it just praise literature, or is it also a kind of teaching poem? And is this one criterion of making it philosophical – that it is teaching people about ethics, about the world?”

Emiliano Minerba, a literary scholar of African languages at the University of Bayreuth, provided a comparative perspective on this. In the Wolof tradition, he explained, the line between praise and teaching is blurred. Often “praising is a way of teaching,” because the poem holds up a role model to emulate. Rather than expound abstract principles, the praise poem extols virtues embodied by saints or heroes. He added: “the poems don’t teach through concept alone, they teach through examples, and praising is a way to reward the example.”

Minerba contrasted this with the Swahili Sufi literature. Classical Swahili Islamic poetry shows less praise-poems and more epic or narrative texts. He noted that while many Bantu-language traditions have praise songs, Swahili’s Islamic poetry is dominated by other genres (like historical epics of battles in early Islam). Moreover, Minerba pointed out a theological difference: the Wolof Muridiyya order puts a strong emphasis on tarbiya (spiritual learning and development) and xam-xam (knowledge), privileging practical, experiential knowledge over theory. This primacy of tarbiya in the Murid context means that learning from a spiritual guide’s example is central – which aligns with the prominence of praise poems. These comparative notes suggest that what counts as “philosophical literature” varies even within Islamic scholarly traditions in Sub-Saharan Africa, depending on local conceptions of knowledge and learning.

Monika Rohmer re-emphasized that whether a text is philosophical depends not on its form (poem, song, story) but on how it is used and understood. If a poem wrestles with questions of meaning, truth, or right conduct, and if it stimulates reflection or guides action, then it arguably functions philosophically for its community. Philosophy in African languages may appear in unconventional guises (from praise songs to proverbs), and appreciating this requires a flexible, context-sensitive approach.

Wrestling with Religion: Philosophical Inquiry in an Islamic Context

Another central theme of the talk was the interplay between philosophy and religion in the Wolof context. The Wolof texts Rohmer studied are often connected to Sufi Islamic traditions, raising questions about how religious worldview and philosophical inquiry intersect.

Abosede Ipadeola was interested the freedom to question religious concepts in a Wolof Islamic setting. She recalled Rohmer’s assertion from the lecture that “philosophers must consider the idea of God critically.” “When you approach the concept of God from a religious standpoint,” Ipadeola said, “you’re approaching a transcendent being that demands obedience… you are not allowed to question or approach God critically the way you are encouraged to in philosophy.” She cited Islam in particular, where open critique of God’s nature can be taboo. Given that Wolof society is deeply Islamic, she asked Rohmer: In Wolof thought (pre-Islamic or even now), is it allowed to ask questions about God? How did the texts or traditions Rohmer studies handle the concept of God – do they permit a philosophical questioning, or is it purely devotional?

In response, Rohmer offered an intriguing example from a tale she had mentioned in her lecture: Kocc Barma Fall, a Wolof philosopher in the 16^th century, engages the ruler in a dialogue and asks, “What is God like?” The answer given is metaphorical and bold: “God is a wrestling champion: when He holds you, you will die.” This startling image equates God to an unbeatable wrestler. But the story has a twist, as Rohmer showed: actually, it was Kocc who was mistaken for God by the ruler. “This shows that to play with the idea of God is possible at that time,” Rohmer concluded. In this example, the concept of God is approached with a certain creativity and irony, imagining a divine-human “wrestling match”. 

Rohmer added, however, that such questions are delicate. Contemporary Senegal is very religious, and outright impiety is socially unacceptable. Rohmer humorously remarked, “the only answer that is not allowed [in Senegal] is that you are an atheist… you have to believe in something, no matter what.” In other words, skepticism is permissible up to a point, but a baseline of belief is expected as part of the cultural frame. She suggested to treat atheism as a cultural frame, a framing from which we start to philosophize. Islamic scholarship frames the world differently, and in that context, philosophizing starts from another viewpoint. Rather than assume that only a secular stance yields “true philosophy,” we should see that devout Islamic thinkers begin from their own frame of reality (God-given, purpose-laden) and philosophize within that framework. The task of intercultural philosophy is to recognize these frames without dismissing the philosophical thinking that occurs inside them.

Language and Conceptualization: The Case of Xam-Xam (Knowledge)

Throughout the discussion, issues of language and translation kept arising – how French, English or German terms might not neatly map onto Wolof concepts. This became explicit when Rolf Elberfeld returned to analyze the key Wolof term xam-xam (knowledge). He pointed out that since xam-xam is a reduplication of xam (to know), it could be interpreted as ‘knowing-knowing’. Such a construction suggests a self-referential or intensifying structure. Elberfeld noted that in 19th-century Western philosophy, one definition of philosophy was “the science of knowledge,” essentially knowing about knowing. Elberfeld asked Rohmer if xam-xam could be understood as a kind of meta-knowledge (knowledge that includes awareness of itself)? Elberfeld speculated that xam-xam may not equate to an abstract noun (as German Wissen or English knowledge), but may refer to a process or practice.

Monika Rohmer confirmed that European linguistic categories often fail to capture Wolof usage. “The distinctions between noun, verb, and adjective in many cases don’t make sense in Wolof if you deeply think about it,” she noted. Indeed, trying to parse Wolof solely with Latin grammar in mind can hinder understanding. Rohmer often learned the meaning of Wolof terms in vivo from how people use them, rather than relying on rigid grammatical rules. She shared that she initially translated xam-xam as ‘all-encompassing knowledge’ to signal that it “encompasses multiple forms of knowing.” In Wolof discourse, xam-xam can refer to worldly knowledge, spiritual wisdom, practical know-how – all wrapped together. However, she admitted “all-encompassing” might not capture the reflexive nuance that Elberfeld highlighted and found the idea of an inherent self-reflexivity in xam-xam very interesting. 

Emiliano Minerba added that the reduplication of xam-xam exemplifies a general rule of intensification or totality. Minerba gave the examples of am (to have) and am-am (all that one has, total possessions); mën (to be able) and mën-mën (capability, capacity, all that one can do). Therefore, xam-xam implies “the whole of what is knowable/known,” which includes as part of the whole. He liked Rohmer’s translation “all-encompassing knowledge,” adding that xam-xam implicitly “also includes, so to say, knowledge of the knowledge, if you want.”

Rolf Elberfeld built on this, returning to the importance of not treating xam-xam as a static noun. He suggested that Western philosophy often seeks abstract nouns (Truth, Knowledge, Being), but traditions like Wolof might treat these as activities or processes. This aligns with ancient views of knowledge as something one does (for instance, Aristotelian phronesis as practical wisdom cultivated by habit). If we interpret xam-xam as practice, it also resonates with the theme of transformation in philosophy that came up during the lecture. The Wolof xam-xam invites us to think of knowledge as an ongoing, self-referential activity rather than a detached substance.

Rohmer found these reflections highly relevant. She noted that many African languages defy the part-of-speech categorizations we take for granted. In practice, one often has to “just play with it” and accept a certain fluidity in meaning. She also commented that in contemporary Senegal, the use of xam-xam has been somewhat narrowed (for example, it can mean “science” in a modern register, focusing on technical knowledges). However, when looking at historical texts, especially ones involving mbër (wrestling metaphors), she observed that xam-xam was entwined with action and political engagement. Many Wolof intellectuals of the past were also social actors described as “fighters” in both literal and metaphorical senses. French colonial-era writings often described them with terms like lutte or combat (fight/struggle) for truth or justice. Yet Rohmer suggested that French as a medium struggles to convey the full nuance of mbër and xam-xam. This underscored the value of studying concepts in their original languages, as they carry unique constellations of meaning that standard translations flatten.

Philosophy as Transformative Practice: Existential Engagement

Perhaps the most profound thread tying the session together was the idea of philosophy as a transformative, lived practice, an idea was brought into focus again by Yoko Arisaka. Arisaka was enthusiastic about what she saw in Rohmer’s presentation, calling it “really radical and fascinating.” The radical element, she argued, was not about uncovering hidden meanings of Wolof terms or texts, but about shifting our understanding of what doing philosophy entails. For Arisaka, “Philosophy [here] is existential transformation in engagement.” In other words, the act of wrestling – both literally and metaphorically – is philosophy: it transforms the participants. Arisaka urged that we “fundamentally get away from meaning and representation” as the sole focus of philosophy, and instead see philosophizing as something that happens in action, in the here-and-now, changing who we are.

Arisaka elaborated using the example of wrestling as a metaphor for intersubjective existence. Wrestling, by definition, is relational: “you don’t wrestle alone, right?” It requires two people who respond to each other. In a good wrestling match, there is a rhythm of co-creation, each participant is transformed through the encounter. Arisaka drew a parallel to aesthetics and play: in martial arts or even games like chess or go, often the true aim is “creating a beautiful match” rather than merely winning. Victory is secondary to the quality of interaction, which elevates both players. This, she implied, is analogous to philosophy as a collaborative pursuit – a “wrestling” of ideas and perspectives that ideally leaves all participants edified. Arisaka wondered if Wolof wrestling (as portrayed in poems or practices) values the process and virtue over simple victory – akin to how samurai or martial artists value honor and excellence over triumph. This question ties back to Ipadeola’s observation about teaching bravery to children: perhaps the wrestling spectacles convey virtues of courage, fairness, and solidarity more than the competitive outcome.

Rohmer in response shared that this insight – philosophy as transformation – was something she herself came to realize gradually through her research. In fact, Rohmer admitted a personal anecdote that illustrated the gap between an academic approach and the lived reality of Wolof philosophy. “One time when I was in Senegal,” she recounted, “someone was like, ‘Well, you know all of this… but why don’t you practice it?’” She had immersed herself in learning Wolof philosophical texts and practices, and a local friend essentially challenged her: if these practices are meaningful, should they not change the way you live? As a Western-trained scholar, Rohmer had approached the practice analytically, not as a guiding her own life. Only later did she grasp why her friend was disappointed. “Now I really understand why he took so much offense [at] me not following through with this,” she said. “I should have been transformed… and I just watched it from a distance.” This was a moment of self-reflection: the expectation in that context was that learning carries an ethical-existential imperative. Knowing is not enough; one must embody the insights (xam-xam as practice).

Cultural Access and Universality: Can Anyone “Get It”?

Toward the end of the session, Birgit Benzing raised a reflective question about understanding across cultures. Having watched the lecture via video, she took advantage of technology: “One advantage of watching the video instead of being there live is that you can stop and read the text again and again,” she said. She did exactly that with the Wolof poems (and their translations) that Rohmer had shared. “Even reading them thrice, I did not really grasp them,” Benzing confessed. This led her to wonder: “Do I miss the cultural access because I have not been in touch with Senegalese culture and Wolof language, or are these texts rather a kind of esoteric knowledge?” Benzing compared her experience to reading healing prayers: while at first they seem incomprehensible, after explanations of the layers of meaning, “it starts to make sense.” She was essentially inquiring about the accessibility of Wolof philosophical texts to an outsider. Is there a universal aspect one can appreciate (with effort), or are these works so embedded in local cosmology that an outsider will always miss something crucial?

Monika Rohmer responded with an optimistic yet nuanced stance. “I think in the best case, you can have very different approaches and still get something from it,” she replied. In her view, a text can speak on multiple levels: while there are cultural and even secret (esoteric) layers that only insiders or experts might fully appreciate, that doesn’t mean an outsider gets nothing. A philosophically rich text should speak to you also without all the background knowledge, especially when there is a shared human question or experience at its core. Rohmer suggested that when one recognizes the idea of philosophy as a transformative practice as key, many of the texts become relatable. If you approach them with the concept that philosophy is about changing the self and community, “everything becomes very clear, and you can connect intimately” without the need to understand every cultural reference.

Rohmer then made a striking comparison to academic philosophy itself as a kind of closed culture. “Accessibility [of texts] comes back to the idea that philosophy is a religious cult,” Rohmer said, half-jokingly. She recounted how, during her first philosophy course in Leipzig, seasoned students told her she wouldn’t understand a thing until she had “read the whole Critique of Pure Reason by Kant.” In other words, academic philosophy often assumes a canon of knowledge (an esoteric knowledge built around foundational texts) one must absorb to participate in the discussion. If you haven’t been “initiated” by reading certain authors, you’re treated as if you cannot possibly get it: whether Wolof poems or German idealist treatises, there is always some initiation barrier. Every philosophical tradition has its gatekeepers and required knowledge of highly specialized lore. Rohmer’s implication was that we shouldn’t exoticize Wolof texts as uniquely obscure – they may be no more or less esoteric than, say, a Heidegger essay to a layperson. With patience and the right interpretive keys, both can be understood.

This reflection was a fitting note toward the end of the talk, affirming both the universal reach of philosophical ideas and the importance of cultural translation and dialogue. It echoed what the entire session exemplified: scholars from different horizons coming together to “wrestle” with understanding, sometimes not grasping everything, but nonetheless finding common ground.