Redefining modernity: the philosophy of Eguale Yohannes

Dr Eguale Gebre Yohannes stands an important figure in Ethiopia's intellectual landscape, emerging during one of the most transformative periods in the nation's modern history. Born in 1924 in Addis Ababa, he came of age in an Ethiopia caught between worlds—a country wrestling with how to embrace modernity while preserving its ancient identity. The Ethiopia of his youth was ruled by Empress Zewditu, with the dynamic Ras Tafari Makonnen (later Emperor Haile Selassie) serving as regent and driving sweeping modernization efforts. Pressure was growing on Selassie, as the Italians were rapidly modernising the coastal territories they ruled and threatening the state of the nascent ruler.

Dr Eguale’s philosophical project arose from this familiar historical moment: an ancient civilisation with over a millennium of history confronting expanding and aggressive European empires. Having endured the traumatic Italian occupation (1936–1941), witnessed Ethiopia’s restoration, and observed Haile Selassie’s accelerating modernisation programmes, he dedicated his intellectual life to forging a philosophical system rooted in a distinctively Ethiopian mode of thought. In doing so, he confronted the intellectual challenges of his age and became a central figure in the struggle for intellectual independence.

In his writing, Dr Eguale explained the fundamental idea behind his whole project by describing the essential human experience. He conceived philosophy as a tree with two principal branches. The first branch is the world of nature, called yäsene friṭret ālem. The second branch is the world of history or civilisation, known as yä-tarik yewes siltane ālem. He argued that the meeting point of these two worlds is where humanity lies.

He believed that man is a “mediating creature”, or amākay friṭret, positioned between these two realms. With his physical body, he belongs to the natural world; with his spirit, he partakes in the eternal and abstract one. Humanity must therefore follow two kinds of law: the “law of obligation” (ye-gide-ta ḥig) of nature, and the “law of freedom” (ye-nētsanēt ḥig) of the spiritual realm.

Dr Eguale regarded his work as an unusual form of philosophy. He maintained that “the nature and purpose of education cannot be determined in a vacuum”, and that genuine knowledge requires a “deep philosophical investigation”. He remarked that failing to do so amounted merely to “playing from the seashore”, whereas he urged plunging into the “sea of ideas” with a “strong mental arm”.

To appreciate the trap that Dr Eguale identified, one must compare the language and philosophical distinctions between Western thought and the Ethiopian worldview.

In Western intellectual culture, there is often a sharp distinction between “culture” and “civilisation”. Culture tends to be understood as an original, local, and inherited mode of life associated with a people. Civilisation, by contrast, is commonly regarded as a universal, liberal, and advanced condition which lies outside of — and is often accessed only by leaving behind — so-called “primitive” culture. This created an enforced choice: to be “civilised”, one had to sacrifice one’s “culture”.

By way of comparison, the Amharic term ሥልጣኔ (selṭané) carries a different connotation. Although often translated as “civilisation”, it does not imply a condition achieved by abandoning one’s culture. Rather, selṭané refers to a mode of existence that grows out of, and expresses, a people’s culture.

Dr Eguale recognised this as a false alternative. By way of comparison, the Amharic term ሥልጣኔ (selṭané) carries a different connotation. Although often translated as “civilisation”, it does not imply a condition achieved by abandoning one’s culture. Rather, selṭané refers to a mode of existence that grows out of, and expresses, a people’s culture. It signals an inner, natural, and spiritual elevation rather than an external, material pressure. For Dr Eguale, the aim was not to import Western “civilisation” and discard Ethiopian “culture”, but to forge a genuine Ethiopian selṭané through an intense mingling of ideas.

In his book The Spirit and Method of Higher Education, Dr Eguale clarifies the rationale of this local conception of selṭané by outlining the essential human condition. He suggests that the “primal state” of individuals is one of slavery (barinet), which gives rise to an intense and natural longing for freedom. This slavery, he argues, is not simply social or economic but has a double, immediate character.

The first is inner slavery: the slavery of profound ignorance (denkurna), in which an individual’s inner conscience (ḥilina)—the very centre of their humanity—lies obscured. In this state, individuals are guided not by knowledge but by self-fashioned myths (teretoch), living on the same elementary, unconscious impulses as animals.

He cites the tragic example of people sacrificing children to appease an imaginary dragon during a lunar eclipse as evidence of this deep internal bondage, an outlook which King David described with the phrase: “Man, though he is honoured, did not know.”

The second is external slavery: the physical domination of human beings by the cruel laws of nature. Lacking the necessary tools to withstand cold, heat, hunger, and sickness, humans were for centuries a mere “play ball” of their surroundings, enduring lives of “sad misery and torment”. For Dr Eguale, true freedom (selṭané) could only be attained by overcoming this twofold slavery.

Real selṭané is not simply a matter of acquiring material tools to resist external bondage; it is, above all, about liberating the mind from inner slavery.

Real selṭané is not simply a matter of acquiring material tools to resist external bondage; it is, above all, about liberating the mind from inner slavery. This philosophical insight underpinned his project of bringing ideas together. It was, he believed, the only way to achieve a complete and authentic modernity—one that frees both the body from nature’s whims and the mind from ignorance.

Dr Eguale’s critique extended beyond the external forces of modernity to encompass Ethiopian scholars themselves. He observed that many of the nation’s great thinkers (liqawnt) had failed to fulfil their principal intellectual duty: to share their knowledge with others and with future generations.

He held that the spiritual function (yemenfes tegbaru) of a person is intrinsically communicative. As he wrote: “The human spirit has two spheres of work. The first is oneself. The second is its peer.” This process, he explained, is active: the spirit first works upon itself to grasp its own inner life (wusṭawi ḥiywot). It must then express this inner work through speech and writing, so as to connect with others and invite them to share in its discoveries. He called this the “one principal law” of the spirit’s activity, a law known in the West as dialectic, a term he borrowed from the German philosopher Hegel.

He stressed that the human spirit is never solitary; it either does not exist, or it is always in dialogue with others. This powerful insight formed a vital link in his thought.

Dr Eguale was not simply a historian or cultural critic; he was a philosopher offering a way forward. By explicitly linking the spiritual function of the intellectual to the Hegelian dialectic, he provided a clear path for society to free itself from internal oppression and attain selṭané. Collective discussion—the exchange of ideas, the interplay of thesis and antithesis—was, for him, the only means of producing a shared, robust, and tested body of knowledge.

Without this dialectical process, knowledge remains private and unexamined, untested against reality, leaving society mired in endless intellectual stagnation and confusion.

He was precise about what Ethiopian intellectuals needed to do: to study both European and Ethiopian civilisations deeply, appreciating their “wealth and uniqueness”.

His vision was a direct, decolonising response to modern forces. His non-essentialist dualism crystallised in a profound philosophical idea: “በተዋሕዶ ከበረ” (bete-wāḥedo keb-ere), meaning “glorified through synthesis”. This concept rejects the West’s essentialist dualism—the stark opposition between “modern” and “traditional”.

He was precise about what Ethiopian intellectuals needed to do: to study both European and Ethiopian civilisations deeply, appreciating their “wealth and uniqueness”. He insisted: “We cannot substitute one for the other or mix these two civilisations together.”

Dr Eguale’s brilliance lay in perceiving that the way forward was not imitation or shallow amalgamation, but a careful, deliberate synthesis of intellect and spirit. Drawing on the principle of tewaḥedo (union), which in theology denotes the unity of the divine and human natures of Christ, he elevated the concept to the philosophical level of national renewal. It was a conscious, reasoned choice—not passive cultural mimicry.

Whereas irq (reconciliation) in Ethiopian society historically remained an unreflective way of resolving social conflicts, Dr Eguale’s genius lay in transforming this notion and formalising it as a philosophy. He strove to elevate a recognised cultural wisdom to a deeper level.

He believed that from this coming together of ideas there could arise, for Ethiopia, a new kind of truly Ethiopian modernity.

“Glorified through synthesis” meant creating an emergent space in which opposing forces are united and harmonised. For him, Western and Ethiopian modes of thought did not represent any kind of “destructive contradiction”; rather, they embodied a “dynamic tension” through which a better and stronger union could be forged.

He believed that from this coming together of ideas there could arise, for Ethiopia, a new kind of truly Ethiopian modernity. Through a form of “balanced education”, he envisioned solutions to the problems of the nation—an approach that clearly applied this principle.

He observed that the Western model of education had an “uprooting effect” and an “alienating impact”, producing individuals whose minds were “scanned” or “imprinted by Westernisation”. It was tragic, he argued, that the university—meant to be a unifying institution—became instead an institution which deepens divisions between social classes, in which students grew alienated from their own history and culture, treating them as obstacles rather than foundations to build upon.

His philosophical project marked the peak of Ethiopia’s long struggle with modern ideas. Emperor Tewodros II (1855–1868) was likely the first Ethiopian ruler to seek modern knowledge actively—not for its intellectual depth but for its practical use. He regarded Western technology as a means of strengthening his empire and defending against foreign threats. By inviting skilled workers and engineers, he showed that he understood knowledge as power, but his focus remained on military and political matters, not philosophy.

Later, Emperor Menelik II (1889–1913) pursued this practical approach by founding institutions such as the first modern school, the Menelik II School, and the first hospital. His aim was to use Western knowledge and infrastructure to build a strong state. While this laid the groundwork for intellectual growth, it did not yet confront the philosophical challenges of integrating two very different worldviews.

Emperor Haile Selassie I (1930–1974) faced these tensions more directly. He not only expanded but firmly established the modern educational system, creating the well-known “Six Kilo” mindset that critics later decried. Although he spoke of uniting tradition and modernity, the system he built paradoxically reinforced a stark division.

The educational system functioned like a Foucauldian disciplinary tool, designed to produce a Westernised intellectual elite to guide a changing society. This deepened the divide that Dr Eguale sought to heal.

Against this backdrop, Dr Eguale’s choice of Karl Jaspers over Martin Heidegger becomes especially clear. Jaspers was a philosopher who embraced open-ended questioning, acknowledged the limits of human knowledge, and insisted on the necessity of constant critical reflection. His famous dictum—“Education is one soul awakening another soul”—resonated with the Qiné school’s conviction that questioning matters more than mere thinking.

In Jaspers, Eguale found a kindred mode of thought: a philosophy that valued inquiry over passive acceptance, offering a way to engage with a changing world without losing oneself in it.

Iqbal’s call to cultivate Khudi—the self rooted in higher awareness—was a protest against an education that “blunted the soul” through materialist emphasis. In parallel, Dr Eguale’s work urged Ethiopia to resist fragmenting its identity and knowledge, advocating instead for a vibrant synthesis of traditions.

In this respect, Dr Eguale resembled other post-colonial thinkers such as Allama Muhammad Iqbal, who grappled with similar challenges. Both drew upon their own cultural resources to resist alienation. Iqbal’s call to cultivate Khudi—the self rooted in higher awareness—was a protest against an education that “blunted the soul” through materialist emphasis. In parallel, Dr Eguale’s work urged Ethiopia to resist fragmenting its identity and knowledge, advocating instead for a vibrant synthesis of traditions.

Ultimately, Dr Eguale Gebre Yohannes’s enduring legacy lies in his role as a pivotal thinker who wove together tradition and modernity. His philosophy of education was not merely academic but a heartfelt, national endeavour to shape a modern Ethiopia that was both intellectually strong and culturally grounded.

His life’s work—now honoured through the naming of a university building after him—reminds us of the unseen connections between past and present. Who overlooks these connections today? We do, whenever we assume that new ideas must come from outside rather than from the rich, questioning traditions within our own history. To acknowledge them is to respect the wisdom of his vision, and to recognise that the struggle for true, complete, and just understanding continues.