A great deal of philosophy begins with the claim that we ought to examine our assumptions. Fewer philosophers seem interested in examining the mechanisms that decide which assumptions are allowed to count as philosophy in the first place.
This is not a polemic about the Analytic–Continental divide. It’s an observation about how that divide quietly maintains itself. The immediate provocation was banal. Almost embarrassingly so.
Are cold, or do we have cold?
In English, the answer feels obvious. I am cold. The grammar barely registers. In French, Italian, or German, the structure flips. One has cold. Or hunger. Or thirst. Or age. Or a name, understood as something one performs rather than something one is. I spoke about this here and here. Indulge this link to the original position being argued.
On the surface, this looks like a curiosity for linguistics students. A translation quirk. A grammatical footnote. But grammar is rarely innocent.
Grammar as Ontological Scaffolding
The verbs to be and to have are not neutral carriers. They quietly encode assumptions about identity, property, possession, and stability.
When I say I am cold, I cast coldness as a property of the self. It becomes something like height or nationality: a state attributable to the person. When I say I have cold, the experience is externalised. The self remains distinct from the condition it undergoes. Neither option is metaphysically clean.
Both structures smuggle in commitments before any philosophy has been done. One risks inflating a transient sensation into an ontological state. The other risks reifying it into a thing one owns, carries, or accumulates. My own suggestion in a recent exchange was a third option: sensing.
Cold is not something one is or has so much as something one feels. A relational encounter. An event between organism and environment. Not an identity predicate, not a possession.
This suggestion was met with a fair pushback: doesn’t saying that cold ‘belongs to the world’ simply introduce a different metaphysical assumption? Yes. It does. And that response neatly demonstrates the problem.
When Grammar Starts Doing Philosophy
The original claim was idiomatic, not ontological. It was a negative gesture, not a positive thesis. The point was not to relocate cold as a mind-independent substance floating about like a rock. It was to resist treating it as an essence of the person. But once you slow down, you see how quickly everyday grammar demands metaphysical loyalty.
Being invites substance. Having invites inventory. Sensing keeps the relation open, but even that makes people nervous. This nervousness is instructive. It reveals how much metaphysical weight we quietly load onto grammatical habits simply because they feel natural. And that feeling of naturalness matters more than we like to admit.
Two Philosophical Temperaments, One Linguistic Groove
At this point, the temptation is to draw a clean line:
On one side: the Anglo-American Analytic tradition, comfortable treating mental states as properties, objects, or items to be catalogued. Locke’s introspective inventory. Hume’s bundle. Logical positivism’s clean surfaces.
On the other: the Continental tradition, suspicious of objectification, insisting on an irreducible subject for whom experience occurs but who is never identical with its contents. Kant, Husserl, Heidegger, Sartre.
The grammar aligns disturbingly well. Languages that habitually say I am cold make it feel natural to treat experience as something inspectable. Languages that insist on having or undergoing experiences keep the subject distinct by default.
This is not linguistic determinism. English speakers can read phenomenology. German speakers can do analytic philosophy. But language behaves less like a prison and more like a grooved path. Some moves feel obvious. Others feel forced, artificial, or obscure.
Philosophies do not arise from grammar alone. But grammar makes certain philosophies feel intuitively right long before arguments are exchanged.
Where Gatekeeping Enters Quietly
This brings us to the part that rarely gets discussed.
The Analytic–Continental divide persists not only because of philosophical disagreement, but because of institutional reinforcement. Peer review, citation norms, and journal cultures act as boundary-maintenance mechanisms. They are not primarily crucibles for testing ideas. They are customs checkpoints for recognisability.
I have been explicitly cautioned, more than once, to remove certain figures or references depending on the venue. Don’t mention late Wittgenstein here. Don’t cite Foucault there. Unless, of course, you are attacking them. This is not about argumentative weakness. It’s about genre violation.
Hybrid work creates a problem for reviewers because it destabilises the grammar of evaluation. The usual criteria don’t apply cleanly. The paper is difficult to shelve. And unshelvable work is treated as a defect rather than a signal. No bad faith is required. The system is doing what systems do: minimising risk, preserving identity, maintaining exchange rates.
Cold as a Diagnostic Tool
The reason the cold example works is precisely because it is trivial.
No one’s career depends on defending a metaphysics of chilliness. That makes it safe enough to expose how quickly grammar starts making demands once you pay attention.
If something as mundane as cold wobbles under scrutiny, then the scaffolding we rely on for far more abstract notions – self, identity, agency, consciousness – should make us uneasy.
And if this is true for human languages, it becomes far more pressing when we imagine communication across radically different forms of life.
Shared vocabulary does not guarantee shared metaphysics. Familiar verbs can conceal profound divergence. First contact, if it ever occurs, will not fail because we lack words. It will fail because we mistake grammatical comfort for ontological agreement.
A Modest Conclusion
None of this settles which philosophical tradition is ‘right’. That question is far less interesting than it appears. What it does suggest is that philosophy is unusually sensitive to linguistic scaffolding, yet unusually resistant to examining the scaffolding of its own institutions.
We pride ourselves on questioning assumptions while quietly enforcing the conditions under which questions are allowed to count. Cold just happens to be a good place to start noticing.
A Footnote on Linguistic Determinism
It’s worth being explicit about what this is not. This is not an endorsement of strong linguistic determinism, nor a revival of Sapir–Whorf in its more ambitious forms. English speakers are not condemned to analytic philosophy, nor are Romance-language speakers predestined for phenomenology.
Language does not imprison thought. It inclines it.
Grammar operates less like a set of handcuffs and more like a well-worn path. Some moves feel effortless. Others require deliberate resistance. Philosophical traditions co-evolve with these habits, reinforcing what already feels natural while treating alternatives as strained, obscure, or unnecessary.
The claim here is not necessity, but friction.
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