Titrating Hegel

3โ€“4 minutes

Allow me to start with a declaration: I am no Hegel expert, and whether I am an expert at anything is debatable. Still, I’ve been reflecting on Hegel through my own lenses, and I have an opinion โ€“ because of course I do. My comment isn’t on a single Hegel publication. Rather, it’s a commentary on some of his general ideas โ€“ some more specific than others โ€“ that just so happen to be rattling around my noggin as I type.

Audio: NotebookLM summary podcast of this topic.

I know I’ve already claimed to have started, but this is the real start. Let’s talk translations.

NotebookLM Infographic on this topic.

I recently discussed the problem with translating Meursault’s French maman. The short version: English lacks a clean equivalent. Every option โ€“ Mother, Mummy, Mama โ€“ over-interprets the son’s relation to his mother, leaning warmer or colder or more infantile than the French allows. Camus’ problem is at the level of affective register. The ambiguity is tonal, intimate, and culturally situated. English simply can’t carry it without choosing a side.

Hegel has a different problem, more philosophically weighty. His problem is Geist. Almost immediately, I think of zeitgeist and Poltergeist. Ghosts. Spirits. Phenomenology of Spirit, right? Easy peasy.

Not so fast. Some translators render it as Mind, in an attempt to distance themselves from theological baggage. The problem is that Hegel himself equivocates โ€“ so he’s of little help. He may have been intentionally cheeky, being stuck in the milieu of his day, as well as a product of it and producer through it.

Where maman exposes language’s insufficiency at the level of affective register, Geist exposes it at the level of metaphysical architecture. English can’t preserve the conceptual promiscuity by which Hegel binds mind, spirit, culture, history, and ontology into one unfolding term. The word doesn’t just mean something; it enacts a view of what is real and how the real moves. If that weren’t bad enough, enter ontological grammar commitments. (I’m a teetotaller, so someone else hold the bear.)

Video: Hold my bear

The translator is not neutrally asking: What does Geist mean? They are already asking, even if silently: What kind of reality do I think Hegel is describing?

Translation here isn’t the neutral transfer of meaning โ€“ it’s the exposure of ontological allegiance. The quarrel over Geist is not a lexical dispute. It is ontology laundering itself through vocabulary.

Let’s consider the two camps.

The Mind camp hears:

“You are importing theology into what is fundamentally a logic of intelligibility.”

The Spirit camp hears:

“You are evacuating the historical-metaphysical depth of the term and pretending Hegel was doing philosophy of cognition with better hats โ€” nicer hats, perhaps, but hats all the same.”

Neither objection is irrational from within its own grammar. Both are locally coherent. They simply don’t share the same ontology of the term.

Reason doesn’t choose between Mind and Spirit from nowhere. It adjudicates from within a prior ontological settlement, then mistakes that settlement for neutrality. This is worth remembering well beyond the Hegel literature.

In disputes over Geist, reason doesn’t fail because the parties are irrational. It fails because each party’s reason operates inside a different ontological grammar. What appears as clarification within one frame appears as distortion within the other. A reason is not self-legitimating. It becomes a reason only inside a grammar that knows how to receive it.

Which brings us back to the title. Titration works when you have a known reagent and a neutral solvent โ€“ you add one to the other until the system reaches equilibrium. The whole method assumes there is an equilibrium to reach. Geist has no neutral solvent. Mind and Spirit are not two concentrations of the same substance. They are different substances, differently constituted, differently reactive. There is no volume at which one cancels the other out. You can titrate the word all you like. The indicator never changes colour. What you are left with is not a settled meaning but a record of your own ontological commitments, precipitated out of solution and sitting at the bottom of the flask โ€“ which, in the end, is more than most translations will admit.

Door Prize: Here’s your parting gift courtesy of NotebookLMโ€ฆ

Cold, Aliens, and the Grammar That Thinks It Knows Too Much

2โ€“3 minutes

I shared this post not too long ago. Today, I shared it in a different context, but I feel is interesting โ€“ because I feel that many things are interesting, especially around language and communication.

It commenced here on Mastodon.

Ocrampal shared a link to an article debating whether we are cold or have cold. Different cultures express this differently. It’s short. Read it on his site.

Audio: Exceptional NotebookLM summary podcast of this topic.

I replied to the post:

Nicely observed. I’ve pondered this myself. Small linguistic tweak: between รชtre and avoir, avoir already behaves better metaphysically, but sentir seems the cleanest fit. Cold isnโ€™t something one is or has so much as something one senses โ€” a relational encounter rather than an ontological state or possession.

Between having and being, having is the lesser sin โ€” but sensing/feeling feels truer. Cold belongs to the world; we merely sense it.

He replied in turn:

Agree except for: “Cold belongs to the world”. That is a metaphysical assumption that has consequences …

Finally (perhaps, penultimately), I responded:

Yes, it does. That statement was idiomatic, to express that ‘cold’ is environmental; we can’t be it or possess it. Coincidentally, I recently wrote about ‘cold’ in a different context:

where I link back to the post at the top of this article.

A more verbose version of this response might have been:

And this is exactly the problem I gestured at in the aliens piece. We mistake familiar grammatical scaffolding for shared metaphysics. We assume that if the sentence parses cleanly, the ontology must be sound.

Language doesnโ€™t just describe experience. It quietly files it into categories and then acts surprised when those categories start making demands.

Cold, like aliens, exposes the trick. The moment you slow down, the grammar starts to wobble. And that wobble is doing far more philosophical work than most of our declarative sentences are willing to admit.

When Aliens Speak English: The False Promise of Linguistic Familiarity

5โ€“7 minutes

Why shared language creates the illusion โ€“ not the reality โ€“ of shared experience

Human beings routinely assume that if another agent speaks our language, we have achieved genuine mutual understanding. Fluency is treated as a proxy for shared concepts, shared perceptual categories, and even shared consciousness. This assumption appears everywhere: in science fiction, in popular philosophy videos, and in everyday cross-cultural interactions. It is a comforting idea, but philosophically indefensible.

Video: Could You Explain Cold to an Alien? – Hank Green

Recent discussions about whether one could ‘explain cold to an alien’ reveal how deeply this assumption is embedded. Participants in such debates often begin from the tacit premise that language maps transparently onto experience, and that if two interlocutors use the same linguistic term, they must be referring to a comparable phenomenon.

A closer analysis shows that this premise fails at every level.

Audio: NotebookLM summary podcast on this topic.

Shared Language Does Not Imply Shared Phenomenology

Even within the human species, thermal experience is markedly variable. Individuals from colder climates often tolerate temperatures that visitors from warmer regions find unbearable. Acclimation, cultural norms, metabolic adaptation, and learned behavioural patterns all shape what ‘cold’ feels like.

If the same linguistic term corresponds to such divergent experiences within a species, the gap across species becomes unbridgeable.

A reptile, for example, regulates temperature not by feeling cold in any mammalian sense, but by adjusting metabolic output. A thermometer measures cold without experiencing anything at all. Both respond to temperature; neither inhabits the human category ‘cold’.

Thus, the human concept is already species-specific, plastic, and contextually learned โ€” not a universal experiential module waiting to be translated.

Measurement, Behaviour, and Experience Are Distinct

Thermometers and reptiles react to temperature shifts, and yet neither possesses cold-qualia. This distinction illuminates the deeper philosophical point:

  • Measurement registers a variable.
  • Behaviour implements a functional response.
  • Experience is a mediated phenomenon arising from a particular biological and cognitive architecture.

Aliens might measure temperature as precisely as any scientific instrument. That alone tells us nothing about whether they experience anything analogous to human ‘cold’, nor whether the concept is even meaningful within their ecology.

The Problem of Conceptual Export: Why Explanation Fails

Attempts to ‘explain cold’ to hypothetical aliens often jump immediately to molecular description โ€“ slower vibrational states, reduced kinetic energy, and so forth. This presumes that the aliens share:

  • our physical ontology,
  • our conceptual divisions,
  • our sense-making framework,
  • and our valuation of molecular explanation as intrinsically clarifying.

But these assumptions are ungrounded.

Aliens may organise their world around categories we cannot imagine. They may not recognise molecules as explanatory entities. They may not treat thermal variation as affectively laden or behaviourally salient. They may not even carve reality at scales where ‘temperature’ appears as a discrete variable.

When the conceptual scaffolding differs, explanation cannot transfer. The task is not translation but category creation, and there is no guarantee that the requisite categories exist on both sides.

The MEOW Framework: MEOWa vs MEOWb

The Mediated Encounter Ontology (MEOW) clarifies this breakdown by distinguishing four layers of mediation:

  • T0: biological mediation
  • T1: cognitive mediation
  • T2: linguistic mediation
  • T3: social mediation

Humans run MEOWa, a world structured through mammalian physiology, predictive cognition, metaphor-saturated language, and social-affective narratives.

Aliens (in fiction or speculation) operate MEOWb, a formally parallel mediation stack but with entirely different constituents.

Two systems can speak the same language (T2 alignment) whilst:

  • perceiving different phenomena (T0 divergence),
  • interpreting them through incompatible conceptual schemas (T1 divergence),
  • and embedding them in distinct social-meaning structures (T3 divergence).

Linguistic compatibility does not grant ontological compatibility.
MEOWa and MEOWb allow conversation but not comprehension.

Fiction as Illustration: Why Aliens Speaking English Misleads Us

In Sustenance, the aliens speak flawless Standard Southern English. Their linguistic proficiency invites human characters (and readers) to assume shared meaning. Yet beneath the surface:

  • Their sensory world differs;
  • their affective architecture differs;
  • their concepts do not map onto human categories;
  • and many human experiential terms lack any analogue within their mediation.

The result is not communication but a parallel monologue: the appearance of shared understanding masking profound ontological incommensurability.

The Philosophical Consequence: No Universal Consciousness Template

Underlying all these failures is a deeper speciesist assumption: that consciousness is a universal genus, and that discrete minds differ only in degree. The evidence points elsewhere.

If โ€œcoldโ€ varies across humans, fails to apply to reptiles, and becomes meaningless for thermometers, then we have no grounds for projecting it into alien phenomenology. Nor should we assume that other species โ€“ biological or artificial โ€“ possess the same experiential categories, emotional valences, or conceptual ontologies that humans treat as foundational.

Conclusion

When aliens speak English, we hear familiarity and assume understanding. But a shared phonological surface conceals divergent sensory systems, cognitive architectures, conceptual repertoires, and social worlds.

Linguistic familiarity promises comprehension, but delivers only the appearance of it. The deeper truth is simple: Knowing our words is not the same as knowing our world.

And neither aliens, reptiles, nor thermometers inhabit the experiential space we map with those words.

Afterword

Reflections like these are precisely why my Anti-Enlightenment project exists. Much contemporary philosophical commentary remains quietly speciesist and stubbornly anthropomorphic, mistaking human perceptual idiosyncrasies for universal structures of mind. Itโ€™s an oddly provincial stance for a culture that prides itself on rational self-awareness.

To be clear, I have nothing against Alex Oโ€™Connor. Heโ€™s engaging, articulate, and serves as a gateway for many encountering these topics for the first time. But there is a difference between introducing philosophy and examining oneโ€™s own conceptual vantage point. What frustrates me is not the earnestness, but the unexamined presumption that the human experiential frame is the measure of all frames.

Having encountered these thought experiments decades ago, Iโ€™m not interested in posturing as a weary elder shaking his stick at the next generation. My disappointment lies elsewhere: in the persistent inability of otherwise intelligent thinkers to notice how narrow their perspective really is. They speak confidently from inside the human mediation stack without recognising it as a location โ€“ not a vantage point outside the world, but one local ecology among many possible ones.

Until this recognition becomes basic philosophical hygiene, weโ€™ll continue to confuse linguistic familiarity for shared ontology and to mistake the limits of our own embodiment for the limits of consciousness itself.

Adventures in Translation

Every translation is a negotiation between fidelity and clarity. In the case of The Illusion of Light, some word choices are specifically English and either have no typical translation or don’t translate directly.

Some examples are as follows:

  • Agency: In French, agence means agency, but not the sort of bodily autonomy as it does in English. Autonomie carries too much metaphysical connotation โ€“ though to be fair, so does the English version. I ended up with soi autonome.
  • Against Agency: The title of an essay, but I still wanted to translate it. I decided to split the difference and run with Contre l’agency, hoping ‘agency’ would still be recognised in academic circles.
  • Care: Thereโ€™s no perfect equivalent for ‘care’ as both ethical and practical attention. Soin captures the tenderness but not the intellectual rigour; entretien captures the steadiness but loses affect. I used both, sometimes switching between them in deliberate tension.
  • Dis-Integrationism: Variants of this will follow a Dรฉs-intรฉgrationisme pattern, retaining the negation and the hyphenation.
  • Enlightenment: Of course, Enlightenment is perfectly French, but anti-Enlightenment, not so much. I opted for aprรจs-Lumiรจres over anti-Lumiรจres.
  • Freedom: Libertรฉ inevitably invokes Rousseau and 1789. English ‘freedom’ โ€“ a word with old English roots and Germanic cognates โ€“ feels looser, more existential. I leaned into libertรฉ when I wanted that historic echo and used autonomie or franchise elsewhere to recover the personal register.
  • Maintenance: In English, ‘maintenance’ sits halfway between repair and care. French forces a choice: entretien (maintenance as upkeep) or soin (maintenance as care). I alternated depending on whether the passage leaned toward the mechanical or the ethical.
  • Normality: Normalitรฉ exists but sounds sociological, not moral. In Homo Normalis, I leaned on context to restore the Enlightenment’s moral undertone rather than altering the word itself. The surrounding prose had to carry what the French term doesn’t.
  • Objectivity: The French objectivitรฉ is a near-cognate, but it feels heavier โ€“ almost bureaucratic โ€“ where the English still carries a trace of philosophical neutrality. I kept it, but softened the surrounding phrasing to prevent it from sounding bureaucratic.
  • Omnivident: I opted for omnivoyant. In French, it typically means clairvoyant (mystical seeing), but it’s also used for La Joconde‘s unsettling stare โ€“ that optical illusion of being watched from every angle. The latter sense is what the Enlightenment promised: not prophecy but perfect surveillance, not mystic vision but total measurement. Mona Lisa’s gaze follows you; so does Reason’s. To be fair, my spell-checker isn’t very happy with omnivident either, but sometimes you just need to stick to your guns.
  • Reason: Raison is obvious but slippery. In English, it can mean logic, justification, or sanity. French raison often sounds institutional โ€“ la Raison dโ€™ร‰tat lurks in its shadow โ€“ which helped the irony of my argument but occasionally demanded rephrasing to avoid unintended gravitas.
  • The self: Le soi remains my preference over le moi; the latter brings too much Freud. Soi feels grammatical yet open โ€“ the right degree of abstraction for a ghost of the Enlightenment.

Translation isnโ€™t the transfer of meaning but the calibration of resonance. Each word is a compromise between fidelity and hospitality โ€“ how much the host language can bear before it ceases to be itself.

I’m only at chapter five โ€“ the longest โ€“ with six more chapters ahead, plus appendices and back matter. This list will grow. Translation, like the maintenance ethics the book describes, is work without end: attentive, incremental, never quite finished.

Lโ€™Illusion de la lumiรจre

1โ€“2 minutes

Un court message aujourdโ€™hui.

Je travaille ร  la traduction de The Illusion of Light : Thinking After the Enlightenment (Lโ€™Illusion de la lumiรจre : Penser aprรจs les Lumiรจres) en franรงais, avec lโ€™aide de quelques outils linguistiques et dโ€™un peu dโ€™intelligence artificielle. Jโ€™ai bon espoir que le processus sera fructueux. Souhaitez-moi bonne chance.

Je dois beaucoup aux penseurs franรงais, dโ€™hier comme dโ€™aujourdโ€™hui. Traduire ce texte est donc, ร  ma maniรจre, une forme de reconnaissance. Mon plus grand dรฉfi sera de prรฉserver un franรงais ร  la fois contemporain et fidรจle ร  ma voix โ€“ moins prosaรฏque que poรฉtique.
Mes excuses dโ€™avance aux Quรฉbรฉcois.

Image: โ€œWe have confused the act of exposure with the act of understanding.โ€

In English, I am translating The Illusion of Light into French, so I’m leaving just this short note today.

I donโ€™t know any other languages well enough to attempt a translation myself, but with a few capable software partners, Iโ€™m confident the process will end well.

For the record, Iโ€™m using these tools:

  • Reverso โ€” Iโ€™ve used it for years and still find it helpful. It provides plenty of contextual examples, which helps ensure Iโ€™ve captured the right nuance.
  • ChatGPT โ€” My go-to AI partner; it gets the second pass.
  • Claude โ€” Iโ€™m consistently impressed with its suggested amendments. Where Reverso is precise, Claude tends to catch idiomatic usage better.
  • Mistral โ€” Itโ€™s French, after all. What can I say? A bit pedantic, perhaps, but another set of virtual eyes canโ€™t hurtโ€”can they?

Whilst Iโ€™m sure these tools could manage other languages, I want to be able to evaluate what theyโ€™re doing. In French, even if I donโ€™t know a particular word, I can verify it, and I understand the grammar. With other languages, Iโ€™d simply be trusting a black box.

Besides, French culture and philosophy have influenced me so deeply that the least I can do is offer something back. As this translation is an overview of my English-language essays, I hope it provides some in-language context.

I know how difficult translated works can be to read, so if Iโ€™m overseeing the process, at least thereโ€™s one fewer filter between my thoughts and the reader.

Mindfulness*

Mindfulness, as with yoga and other Eastern concepts, gets diluted for consumption by the West becoming McMindfulness. I learnt Buddhism circa 1980 in Japan, introduced by a friend from New Zealand. He translated for me because all services and teachings were given in Japanese. I won’t get into how the mind-body-spirit connection of yoga has devolved into an exercise regimen in the West.

Yoga

a Hindu theistic philosophy teaching the suppression of all activity of body, mind, and will in order that the self may realize its distinction from them and attain liberation

Most Westerners have attention spans of gnats, so many Eastern concepts need to be homogenised for the Western consumer and then dosed homoeopathically. Only then can the typical Westerner performatively claim to understand these Eastern notions. To be fair, some of the loss occurs because of the lack of depth of cultural understandingโ€”the same loss happens from West to East as wellโ€”and some is languageโ€”the concept doesn’t have a direct translation, so we end up with close enough.

A simple but hopefully instructive anecdote might help. Westerners, especially English-speakers, are typically well-aware of the native Japanese speaker’s inability to articulate the L sound, and so ‘fried rice‘ is rendered something like ‘flied lice‘. Only, this not what’s being said. What we are hearing only approximates an L to our ears, but the L sound is not what’s being uttered. The Japanese language doesn’t have L or R phonemes, respectively /l/ and /r/. So the absence of the R-sound in Japanese and the lack of this alveolar sound in English brings us close to the L sound we presume to perceive. What they are saying is /ษน/, which is in between these two sounds. They don’t have /l/ or /r/, and we don’t have /ษน/, so the misinterpretation goes both ways. Only a person trained in this aspect of linguistics can map the relationship, but this mapping is imperfect but satisfactorily explanatory.

Mindfulness

the practice of maintaining a nonjudgmental state of heightened or complete awareness of one’s thoughts, emotions, or experiences on a moment-to-moment basis

Mindfulness is a member of the eightfold path of Buddhist doctrine. Mindfulness is about being conscious of ‘the world’ of one’s environment and yet not be focused or ‘attached’ to any particular aspect of it. it’s simply being aware. In Buddhism, the scope of mindfulness is particular to the dharma, of which the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path are constituents, so technically speaking, one would need to have these aspects available in inventory.

* This post is a reaction to Landzek’s post, Mindfulness Mythology.