Unmixing the Steel

12–17 minutes

A toy model of why purification is the wrong verb – offered for dissent.

Preamble

I continue to press on colonialism, but this time I look at possibilities and probabilities of extricating colonial influences. I suggest that this is easier said than done. I am no expert in colonialism, post-colonialism, or decolonialism, but I have an interest in philosophical claims and maths, so here I am. Here, I attack a particular model using the metaphor of reconstituting from an alloy. This may be the wrong practical argument, but I address it all the same.

Decolonising decolonisation

There is a picture of decolonisation so intuitive that it barely announces itself as a picture. Something foreign was introduced. The task is to get it out. Sift the flour, strain the tea, remove the intruder, and what remains is ours again. The picture is tidy, it is emotionally satisfying, and it licenses a rule: identify the imports by provenance, discard them, keep the rest.

Let me say at the outset what this essay is not, because the register invites misreading. It is not a defence of the Enlightenment’s colonial rationale, which I regard as indefensible. It is not a claim that nothing should be dismantled. I hold no brief for borders, nations, or the machinery that enforces them, and I am not about to acquire one in the space of fifteen hundred words. The argument is narrower and, I think, more awkward: the subtraction rule cannot be applied, not because it is politically inconvenient but because it is arithmetically malformed. If you want to dismantle something, you need a rule that can actually be run. Provenance is not one.

Wrong metaphor, slightly better metaphor

The usual image is a solution – salt in water. Evaporate the water, and you get your salt back. The image quietly promises that separation is a matter of energy and patience.

Alloys are less accommodating. Steel is not iron with carbon loitering nearby; the hardness belongs to the compound, not to either constituent. Better still, steel’s properties depend on its thermal path as much as its composition. Identical carbon content, quenched rather than annealed, gives you a different material. The map from ingredients to properties is many-to-one and runs in one direction only. You cannot read the recipe off the blade.

That is the metaphor I want, and I want it because it makes a specific claim rather than a mood: the question which properties are the coloniser’s? is not hard to answer. It is malformed. The properties in dispute are compound properties. They have no constituent-level owner to be returned to.

So I built a small arithmetic model to see whether that claim survives being made precise, or whether it evaporates like most metaphors do when you make them count.

What the model is for

Not evidence. Let me be blunt about this, since it is the first objection and it is correct. The model demonstrates nothing about actual history. The numbers are invented. There is no dataset, no measurement, no claim about any real polity.

Its use is different and, I’d argue, more honest than a model pretending to measure. It converts a rhetorical position into a set of rules, so that anyone who wants to disagree has to say which rule they reject rather than merely disliking the conclusion. That is a better argument than either of us shouting about purity. It also has the pleasant property of being able to embarrass its author, since a model can fail to produce the result you wanted, which is more than can be said for an essay.

The rules

Take a polity’s stock of practices – institutions, techniques, concepts, forms of life, whatever you like. Sort every element into three registers:

  • E : endogenous-tagged. Arose from the inherited repertoire.
  • X : exogenous-tagged. Imposed or imported from outside.
  • J : joint. Generated by combining the two, and therefore tagged to neither.

Two rules govern the dynamics.

Recombination. Each period, new practice is generated by combining two elements drawn at random from the existing stock. The offspring is E only if both parents are E. It is X only if both are X. Otherwise – mixed parentage, or a parent that is itself already joint – it is J.

Injection. During the colonial window, a fixed quantity is added to X each period from outside. This is the imposition proper: it does not arise from the stock, it is put there.

Then run two timelines. B receives the injection. A does not – except that A receives a fraction of it anyway, because no polity in the relevant centuries was sitting outside the world colonialism was busy making. Meiji Japan was not a control group. It was adapting to a treated world. In the causal-inference idiom this is an interference violation; I have simply written it in as a leakage parameter rather than confessing it in a footnote.

Finally, a property index sits on top of composition: P = E + 0.6·X + 1.8·J. The large coefficient on J is the whole point of the alloy metaphor. The compound has properties neither constituent had.

Sample output

Forty periods, injection running from period 5 to 25, recombination at 10% of stock per period:

periodEXJJ-share
5161000.0%
102542093.2%
15384415611.7%
205526318423.0%
257558647235.9%
3097789104849.6%
40139891399472.8%

Three things fall out, and the first is not a parameter trick.

One: the joint register is absorbing, so it eats everything. Any element with a J parent produces J. J therefore never shrinks and its share rises monotonically toward unity. This is a theorem about the rules, not an artefact of my invented numbers – any contact at all, given recombination and sufficient time, drives the untaggable share to dominance. By period 40, roughly three-quarters of the stock belongs to no one’s provenance.

Watch the X column, which is where the model earned its keep. X stalls at 91 while the total stock climbs past five thousand. The provenance-visible residue shrinks to 1.7% – not because the imposition faded, but because it was metabolised. What persists of the imposition is precisely the part that has stopped being taggable. I find this the most interesting output, since it says something the metaphor alone did not: coloniality outlives colonialism because it stops being legible as colonial.

Two: subtraction barely moves anything. Strip out every X-tagged element – perfect execution of the purificatory programme, no enforcement problems, no disputes about the list. The property index falls from 8,642 to 8,587. Six-tenths of one per cent. The property lives in J, which the provenance rule cannot see, let alone reach. The purist gets to burn the 1.7% that remains legible and call it a restoration.

Three: the control timeline identifies nothing. Over two hundred stochastic runs, the uncolonised timeline A returns a mean of 8,336 with a standard deviation of 1,249 – a 5th-to-95th percentile band running from 6,276 to 10,173. Colonised timeline B returns 8,571. That is 0.19 standard deviations from A’s mean: sitting comfortably inside the distribution, indistinguishable from an ordinary draw. The decolonising intervention shifts things by about 0.04 sd. Even if you grant a counterfactual – which the previous essay in this sequence argued you cannot, there being no determinate nearest world and no transworld-identical bearer – the counterfactual’s own variance swallows the effect whole.

The rule that survives

If provenance cannot be run, something else has to be. The model points at the alternative rather than merely clearing the ground.

A genetic rule asks: where did this come from? It is an origin test. It requires a counterfactual to answer, has no truth-value when the counterfactual is undefined, and – as the X column shows – targets a shrinking sliver of legible residue whilst the compound does the actual work. Applied in practice, an inoperable rule gets applied by proxy, which means provenance is assigned by whoever holds the pen. The purity test cannot be corrected, because it has already assumed its own criterion.

A functional rule asks: is this presently load-bearing in the reproduction of the asymmetry? It is answerable from what is in front of you, revisable when the answer changes, and indifferent to pedigree. Railways and germ theory arrived with the apparatus and do not sustain it. A racialised labour hierarchy sustains it, whatever its vintage. The question is not what a thing’s parents were but what it is currently holding up.

This is not a concession wrung out of anyone. The better decolonial work got here first and by a different route – Mignolo’s delinking is explicitly not restoration, and Táíwò’s objection to purity-by-provenance is that it insults the appropriative agency it claims to restore. Fanon, whose practice was cheerfully larcenous with Hegel, Marx and Sartre, would have had little patience for a rule that condemned an idea by its passport. The purificatory picture I am attacking is the popular one, not the serious one, and I would rather say so than enjoy an easy win.

What I want dissent on

Three specific places, since general disagreement is no use to anyone.

The absorbing rule. Is it right that mixed parentage yields an untaggable offspring? A critic might say that provenance is heritable – that a practice built from a colonial institution and a local one remains colonial in the relevant sense, and my rule assumes away the answer. I think that reply reintroduces the genetic test by the back door, but it is the strongest objection and I would like it pressed properly.

The coefficient on J. Nothing forces the compound to have emergent properties, and if the property index were merely additive the whole result collapses. Is emergence the right assumption, or have I built the conclusion into the arithmetic?

Whether the generalisation holds. I take this to be one instance of a wider pattern: there is no un-enframed baseline against which to audit a technology, no pre-wage self whose unalienated labour the wage-form displaced, no pre-Norman England to compare the settlement against. Every member of the family runs the same undefined counterfactual, and every purificatory programme in the set is malformed the same way. That is either an elegant result or an overreach dressed as one, and I am genuinely unsure which.

Several readers have asked where the coefficients in the property index came from. The answer is that I chose them, and since a toy model’s only real virtue is that its assumptions are visible, it is worth saying exactly what they do, what other values would mean, and – the more useful question – which results depend on them. The short version: almost none do.

What the index is

The index sits on top of the composition and reads:

P = E + κX·X + κJ·J

where each coefficient is a weight declaring how much a unit of stock in that register contributes to whatever the index tracks. The reader may fill in ‘functional capacity’, ‘productive capability’, or simply ‘the thing about the arrangement anyone would care about’; the argument does not depend on the interpretation. What matters is that the index is a stipulated relation between composition and property, not a measurement of one.

The coefficient on E is fixed at 1 by normalisation. It sets the unit and carries no claim. The other two do carry claims.

ÎşX : how imported practice performs in situ. An imported practice was selected somewhere else, under other conditions. ÎşX asks whether that provenance costs it anything, or gains it anything, once it is running here.

ÎşJ : whether the compound exceeds its parts. This is the emergence parameter, and it is what makes the model an alloy rather than a mixture. Steel is harder than iron or carbon; if the joint register merely inherited the average of its parents, the metaphor would be idle.

What different ranges mean

ÎşXreading
< 0imports subtract: a harm model, coherent but a different argument from this one
0 – 1mismatch: practices adapted elsewhere underperform in a setting that did not select them
= 1neutral; provenance carries no functional consequence
> 1selection: things get imported because they work, so imports outperform the average
ÎşJreading
< 1degradation: hybrids are incoherent, syncretism costs something
= 1mixture, no emergence; the alloy metaphor abandoned
> 1alloy proper; the compound has properties neither constituent had

On restricting the ranges

I was asked whether κX ≤ 1 and κJ > 1 can be justified as constraints. My answers differ.

ÎşJ > 1 is defensible, but only as interpretation. It is what the alloy metaphor asserts, so imposing it is less an empirical claim than a declaration of which model one is running. There is suggestive support in accounts of recombinant innovation – new capability arising from combination rather than from either parent – but suggestive is the correct word, and a critic who holds that hybrids typically underperform is making a coherent rival claim, not an error. The honest form of the constraint is therefore the inequality itself, ÎşJ > ÎşE, stated as the model’s premise rather than as a finding. And, as below, nothing turns on it.

ÎşX ≤ 1 I would not impose, and I no longer use it. There is an argument for it: a practice selected in another environment has no particular reason to fit this one, so friction should be expected on average. But there is an equally good argument against, since the practices that travel are often the ones that travel because they work, which biases the other way. Neither argument is decisive, and the tie-break is not epistemic but rhetorical. This essay’s conclusion is that removing the exogenous register barely changes anything. Setting ÎşJ low makes that conclusion cheaper to reach. Conservative practice runs the other way: choose the value that makes your own result harder to obtain, and report what happens across the range. The original draft used ÎşX = 0.6, which quietly asserted that imported practice underperforms – an unargued substantive claim with an unfortunate resonance, and a thumb on my own scale. I have replaced it with 1.0.

What the constants actually carry

Very little, which is the point of saying so.

Across ÎşX from 0.2 to 5.0 and ÎşJ from 0.5 to 3.0, the effect of stripping every exogenous-tagged element at period 40 ranges from 0.14% to 11.8%, and stays under 3% everywhere except the corner where imports are stipulated to be worth five times native practice. At the neutral setting (ÎşX = 1, ÎşJ = 1 – no penalty on imports and no emergence at all, the metaphor entirely surrendered) the effect is 1.66%. Granting the purist’s own premise instead, that mixture degrades (ÎşJ = 0.5), it is 2.61%. The identification result is similarly indifferent: the colonised timeline sits between 0.16 and 0.41 standard deviations from the uncolonised distribution’s mean across every pairing tested. There is no setting of these constants at which subtraction works or the control group identifies anything.

What does carry the argument is the absorbing rule – the stipulation that mixed parentage yields untaggable offspring – and, downstream of it, elapsed time. Holding the coefficients neutral, the effect of stripping X depends almost entirely on when you strip:

strip atX-shareΔP
t=85.3%5.3%
t=158.6%8.6%
t=256.6%6.6%
t=401.7%1.7%
t=600.3%0.3%

The curve rises while the injection continues and X accumulates faster than recombination metabolises it, peaks near the close of the colonial window, and decays thereafter toward nothing. This is the model’s substantive claim, and it needs no invented constant to make it: purificatory subtraction has a window, and the window closes on its own. Attempted immediately it is partially coherent. Attempted at generational distance it addresses a fraction of a per cent, not because the imposition faded but because it stopped being taggable.

Why they cannot simply be estimated

One might reasonably ask why I do not calibrate the coefficients against something rather than stipulating them. The reason is not laziness, and it is not incidental to the argument. To estimate κX and κJ empirically, one would have to measure the separate contributions of endogenous, exogenous, and joint practice to some outcome – which requires precisely the provenance attribution the essay argues is inoperable, assessed against precisely the counterfactual baseline it argues is undefined. The model cannot be calibrated for the same reason the programme it examines cannot be run.

I would rather state that plainly than have it discovered. It also means the appropriate dissent is not about the numbers. Anyone wishing to defeat the argument should attack the absorbing rule, where the whole weight rests; quarrelling with the constants defeats nothing, as the grid above concedes in advance.

Dukkha, the Path of Pain, and the Illusion of Freedom: Buddhism, Antinatalism, and the Lonely Road of Individuation

The First Noble Truth of Buddhism—the notion that life is suffering, or dukkha—is often misinterpreted as a bleak condemnation of existence. But perhaps there’s something deeper here, something challenging yet quietly liberating. Buddhism doesn’t merely suggest that life is marred by occasional suffering; rather, it proposes that suffering is woven into the very fabric of life itself. Far from relegating pain to an exception, dukkha posits that dissatisfaction, discomfort, and unfulfilled longing are the baseline conditions of existence.

This isn’t to say that life is an unending stream of torment; even in nature, suffering may seem the exception rather than the rule, often concealed by survival-driven instincts and primal ignorance. But we, as conscious beings, are haunted by awareness. Aware of our mortality, our desires, our inadequacies, and ultimately, of our impotence to escape this pervasive friction. And so, if suffering is indeed the constant, how do we respond? Buddhism, antinatalism, and Jungian psychology each offer their own, starkly different paths.

The Buddhist Response: Letting Go of the Illusion

In Buddhism, dukkha is a truth that urges us not to look away but to peer more closely into the nature of suffering itself. The Buddha, with his diagnosis, didn’t suggest we simply “cope” with suffering but rather transform our entire understanding of it. Suffering, he argued, is born from attachment—from clinging to transient things, ideas, people, and identities. We build our lives on desires and expectations, only to find ourselves caught in a cycle of wanting, attaining, and inevitably losing. It’s a form of existential whiplash, one that keeps us bound to dissatisfaction because we can’t accept the impermanence of what we seek.

The Buddhist approach is both radical and elusive: by dissolving attachment and breaking the cycle of clinging, we supposedly dissolve suffering itself. The destination of this path—Nirvana—is not a state of elation or contentment but a transcendence beyond the very conditions of suffering. In reaching Nirvana, one no longer relies on external or internal validation, and the violence of social judgment, cultural obligation, and personal ambition falls away. This may seem austere, yet it offers a powerful antidote to a world that equates happiness with accumulation and possession.

Antinatalism: Opting Out of Existence’s Violence

Where Buddhism seeks liberation within life, antinatalism takes an even more radical stance: why bring new beings into an existence steeped in suffering? For antinatalists, the suffering embedded in life renders procreation ethically questionable. By creating life, we induct a new being into dukkha, with all its attendant violences—society’s harsh judgments, culture’s rigid impositions, the bureaucratic machinery that governs our daily lives, and the inescapable tyranny of time. In essence, to give birth is to invite someone into the struggle of being.

This perspective holds that the most humane action may not be to mend the suffering we encounter, nor even to accept it as Buddhism advises, but to prevent it altogether. It sees the cycle of life and death not as a majestic dance but as a tragic spiral, in which each generation inherits suffering from the last, perpetuating violence, hardship, and dissatisfaction. Antinatalism, therefore, could be seen as the ultimate recognition of dukkha—an extreme empathy for potential beings and a refusal to impose the weight of existence upon them.

Jungian Individuation: The Lonely Path of Becoming

Jung’s concept of individuation offers yet another approach: to delve deeply into the self, to integrate all aspects of the psyche—the conscious and the unconscious—and to emerge as a fully realised individual. For Jung, suffering is not to be escaped but understood and incorporated. Individuation is a journey through one’s darkest shadows, a confrontation with the parts of oneself that society, culture, and even one’s own ego would rather ignore. It is, in a way, an anti-social act, as individuation requires the courage to step away from societal norms and embrace parts of oneself that might be seen as disturbing or unconventional.

But individuation is a lonely road. Unlike the Buddhist path, which seeks to transcend suffering, individuation requires one to face it head-on, risking rejection and alienation. Society’s judgment, a kind of violence in itself, awaits those who deviate from accepted roles. The individuated person may, in effect, be punished by the very structures that insist upon conformity. And yet, individuation holds the promise of a more authentic existence, a self that is not a mere amalgam of cultural expectations but a reflection of one’s truest nature.

The Delusions That Keep Us Tethered to Suffering

Yet, for all their starkness, these paths might seem almost abstract, philosophical abstractions that don’t fully capture the reality of living within the constraints of society, culture, and self. Human beings are armed with powerful psychological mechanisms that obscure dukkha: self-delusion, cognitive dissonance, and hubris. We fabricate beliefs about happiness, purpose, and progress to protect ourselves from dukkha’s existential weight. We convince ourselves that fulfilment lies in achievements, relationships, or material success. Cognitive dissonance allows us to live in a world that we know, on some level, will disappoint us without being paralysed by that knowledge.

It’s worth noting that even those who acknowledge dukkha—who glimpse the violence of existence and the illusory nature of happiness—may still find themselves clinging to these mental defences. They are shields against despair, the comforting armours that allow us to navigate a world in which suffering is the baseline condition. This is why Buddhism, antinatalism, and individuation require such rigorous, often painful honesty: they each ask us to set down these shields, to face suffering not as a solvable problem but as an intrinsic truth. In this light, psychological defences are seen not as failures of awareness but as survival strategies, albeit strategies that limit us from ever fully confronting the nature of existence.

Finding Meaning Amidst the Violence of Being

To pursue any of these paths—Buddhist enlightenment, antinatalism, or Jungian individuation—one must be prepared to question everything society holds dear. They are radical responses to a radical insight: that suffering is not accidental but foundational. Each path offers a different form of liberation, whether through transcendence, abstention, or self-integration, but they all require a certain fearlessness, a willingness to look deeply into the uncomfortable truths about life and existence.

Buddhism calls us to renounce attachment and embrace impermanence, transcending suffering by reshaping the mind. Antinatalism challenges us to consider whether it is ethical to bring life into a world marked by dukkha, advocating non-existence as an escape from suffering. And individuation asks us to become fully ourselves, embracing the loneliness and alienation that come with resisting society’s violence against the individual.

Perhaps the most realistic approach is to accept that suffering exists, to choose the path that resonates with us, and to walk it with as much awareness as possible. Whether we seek to transcend suffering, avoid it, or integrate it, each path is a confrontation with the violence of being. And maybe, in that confrontation, we find a fleeting peace—not in the absence of suffering, but in the freedom to choose our response to it. Dukkha remains, but we may find ourselves less bound by it, able to move through the world with a deeper, quieter understanding.