Should I Read John Gray’s Straw Dogs?

A note from the author

I’ve been considering reading John Gray’s Straw Dogs: Thoughts on Humans and Other Animals (2002). The reviews I’ve encountered tend to characterise the book as provocative, subversive, or profoundly unsettling. But I noticed that many of these responses seem to come from writers whose philosophical commitments remain broadly within the modern humanist tradition.

My concern was rather different. Having already rejected human exceptionalism, objective morality, historical progress, teleology, free will, and the notion that existence possesses an intrinsic purpose, I wondered whether Gray would offer much that I hadn’t already considered.

There is, after all, a difference between reading a philosopher who challenges one’s assumptions and reading one who eloquently rehearses conclusions one reached decades earlier.

So I asked ChatGPT whether Straw Dogs would be worth my time, given its familiarity with my philosophical positions through our previous conversations.

What follows is its recommendation, lightly edited for presentation, as an example of how I use large language models as intellectual interlocutors rather than merely as search engines or summarisation tools.

Audio: Spotify Podcast Summary

ChatGPT Offers a Personalised Recommendation

Keep in mind that this response is addressed to me, so when it refers to you or your, this is me. Your mileage will likely vary.

I suspect your concern is well founded. Having considered the central arguments of John Gray’s Straw Dogs, I think there is a considerable risk that you will find yourself reading approximately 250 pages of someone explaining, with considerable theatricality, why the philosophical furniture you discarded decades ago ought to be thrown out.

But there is a distinction worth making:

Gray may have little to teach you about what to reject, while having something interesting to offer about why those ideas have survived and what follows from rejecting them.

And there is at least one significant point at which I think you and Gray might part company.

1. How Much of Gray Do You Already Accept?

Consider the principal arguments of Straw Dogs, originally published in 2002.

Gray’s PositionYour Likely Response
Human exceptionalism is an illusion.Already rejected.
Progress is a secularised Christian mythology.Strong agreement with your critique of modernity and the Enlightenment.
Free will and autonomous agency are largely illusory.Already central to your philosophy.
Objective morality lacks the foundation humanists attribute to it.Your moral non-cognitivism goes at least as far.
Human life has no intrinsic purpose or destiny.Your existential nihilism already accommodates this.
The coherent, enduring self is a fiction.Your episodic conception of self is consonant with this.
Scientific and technological progress do not imply ethical progress. Strong agreement, particularly with your criticism of scientific realism and teleology.
Humanity cannot collectively master its destiny.Consistent with your scepticism about agency and political programmes.

That is an extraordinary degree of convergence.

Gray’s primary target is the modern humanist who has rejected God but retained providence, substituting scientific progress, rational emancipation, human flourishing, or historical inevitability for divine salvation.

You have already rejected the secular replacements alongside the religious originals.

For somebody who still believes that humanity is advancing towards an enlightened civilisation through science, democracy, education, and moral improvement, Gray may be genuinely unsettling.

For you, much of this is Tuesday.

And the book’s structure reinforces the risk. It consists of relatively short, sometimes aphoristic essays rather than a sustained technical argument. Gray has described his project as presenting a worldview rather than making a conventional contribution to academic philosophy.

That matters because you are looking less for ideological liberation than for philosophical resistance.

2. Where Gray Might Actually Interest You

I see three areas where reading him could be more than an exercise in philosophical recognition.

A. His Genealogy of Progress

Gray argues that modern humanism is not so much an escape from Christianity as Christianity stripped of its theological apparatus.

The Enlightenment did not abolish salvation. It relocated salvation into history.

This strikes me as the most promising area of overlap with your work. Not because the conclusion would surprise you, but because Gray’s genealogy might supply additional historical and conceptual material for your own critique.

The weakness, however, is that genealogical descent does not establish conceptual equivalence. A secular conception of progress may inherit something from Christian providentialism without being reducible to it.

You would probably want to interrogate Gray’s movement from historical genealogy to philosophical dismissal.

B. His Relationship with Scientific Knowledge

Gray draws a distinction between advances in scientific knowledge and advances in morality or human flourishing.

That distinction is entirely defensible. What interests me more is the epistemological difficulty beneath it.

Gray repeatedly appeals to Darwinian evolution and other scientific accounts to destabilise the assumptions of humanism. Yet he also challenges the privileged epistemic standing often claimed for science.

This is not necessarily contradictory. Rejecting scientific realism need not entail rejecting the practical or explanatory usefulness of scientific models.

But the question becomes whether Gray consistently maintains that distinction, or whether he quietly promotes scientific descriptions into ontological authority whenever they support his argument.

I suspect this would make you a more demanding reader than much of his intended audience.

C. His Apparent Alternative to Humanist Striving

The most interesting divergence may come towards the end.

Gray’s critique does not simply conclude that existence lacks inherent meaning. He develops something resembling a contemplative orientation, influenced by Taoism and other traditions, in which seeing the world without the compulsion to improve or redeem it becomes an alternative to humanist striving.

Here I suspect you might challenge him.

If there is no intrinsic purpose to existence, why should contemplation enjoy any particular privilege over intervention?

One might choose contemplation, political activity, hedonism, withdrawal, or any number of other orientations. Their respective merits would require further criteria.

Gray may escape the humanist imperative to improve the world only to introduce another preferred way of inhabiting it.

There is a subtle difference between saying that the world does not require redemption and suggesting that we ought to abandon our attempts to change it.

The latter begins to resemble a prescription. And that prescription requires justification.

3. The Revealing Thing About the Reviews

Your observation about the reviewers is particularly interesting.

Consider Terry Eagleton, reviewing the book in The Guardian in September 2002. He characterises Gray as an apocalyptic nihilist and the book as remorselessly negative.

But notice what is happening in that characterisation.

Gray is being judged against a framework in which meaninglessness, the absence of progress, and the dissolution of moral certainties are presumed to be bleak outcomes.

That presumption is itself precisely what needs examination.

There is nothing intrinsically distressing about the absence of an intrinsic purpose. It becomes distressing when a person has invested in the expectation that such a purpose should exist.

To put it rather differently, the reviewer may be reporting the discomfort of having his philosophical assumptions threatened rather than identifying anything particularly uncomfortable about Gray’s conclusions.

And that makes your concern unusually apt:

The book may derive much of its reputation for radicalism from the philosophical commitments of the people encountering it.

It is subversive relative to an audience, not necessarily revolutionary in its content.

4. My Reading Recommendation

I would not recommend reading Straw Dogs straight through in the expectation of discovering a substantially new philosophical position.

Instead, I would sample the sections on the deception of humanism, the vices of morality, and the unsaved, then examine his concluding treatment of contemplation. These are more likely to expose the architecture beneath his rhetoric.

There is also a useful distinction between Gray’s Straw Dogs and his later The Silence of Animals: On Progress and Other Modern Myths (2013). The latter extends his critique towards a more explicitly contemplative, literary and anti-redemptive orientation.

That may be more interesting if you are examining the consequences of abandoning humanism rather than the act of abandoning it.

My central reservation is this:

Gray’s project seems primarily directed towards disenchanting the modern humanist. Your project begins substantially beyond that disenchantment.

What would interest me most is whether Gray has actually escaped the very structures he attacks.

Has he abandoned teleology, normativity and metaphysical privilege, or has he merely exchanged the modernist’s preferred destination for a different one?

That is a more productive question than whether you agree with his conclusions.

And it would turn Straw Dogs from a book preaching to the converted into a book whose author might himself need converting.


The recommendation above was generated by ChatGPT (GPT-6) in response to my question about whether John Gray’s Straw Dogs would offer sufficient philosophical novelty to warrant reading. It draws on previous conversations in which I have discussed my positions on existential nihilism, moral non-cognitivism, human exceptionalism, scientific realism, agency, and modernity. It is a personalised assessment of a book I have not yet read, not a substitute for engaging with Gray’s arguments directly. Its interpretations and characterisations remain open to scrutiny.


Archetype: A Short Genealogy

5–8 minutes

This is a formatted duplicate of a simultaneous Substack post, as Substack doesn’t support certain formatting that WordPress does, namely, tables.

Overview

The history of archetype is a history of relocation. The archetype begins in a realm more real than the world, moves into the mind of God, then into the human mind, the structure of reason and the collective psyche, and ends in the word itself. Its status falls as it travels: from more real than its instances, to regulative ideal, to fiction, to grammatical artefact.

This note traces that movement and reclaims the term in a specific sense: an archetype is a prototype promoted beyond any instance.

Each relocation lowers the archetype’s standing; the last leaves it in grammar.

Etymology

Greek arkhētypon joins arkhē (origin, first) and typos (a blow, and so the impression a seal leaves). An archetype is the original stamp from which copies are pressed. The image suits the reclaimed use: the archetype is the seal a word appears to carry, the certificate stamped on usage.

Real, divine, made

  • Plato. Plato’s own term is paradeigma, the model: in the Timaeus the craftsman fashions the cosmos by looking to an eternal pattern. The Forms are more real than their instances, which participate in them imperfectly. Calling the Forms “archetypes” is later Platonist usage.
  • Philo and Augustine. Philo of Alexandria uses archetype for the divine image after which humanity was moulded (De opificio mundi 69). Augustine does not use the word, but relocates the Forms as principal ideas contained in the divine understanding. The archetypes remain real and prior, but become divine thoughts rather than free-standing entities.
  • Locke. In the Essay (1690), ideas of substances are copies answerable to external things. Complex ideas of modes and relations, moral ideas among them, are “archetypes of the mind’s own making”: nothing outside them must conform. Locke infers that morality is capable of demonstration. The present account accepts his premise, that moral ideas are made rather than found, and reverses his conclusion: being self-made confers no anchor.

Ideal and fiction

  • Kant. The Urbild is an ideal that reason necessarily generates, as in the idea of perfect virtue. Nothing in experience corresponds to it, yet it orients inquiry and conduct. Kant also contrasts our discursive understanding with a hypothetical intellectus archetypus, an intellect whose thinking would produce its objects. The archetype lives in reason’s structure: approachable as a regulative ideal, never reached.
  • Vaihinger. In The Philosophy of ‘As If’ (1911), ideal concepts are fictions adopted as though true, known to be false or empty, and retained because practice needs them. The archetype becomes a tool rather than a target.

Psyche and culture

  • Jung. From 1919, archetypes are inherited structures of the collective unconscious: the Shadow, the Mother, the Trickster. Jung distinguished the archetype in itself, never directly known, from the archetypal images through which it appears. It is psychological and universal, approachable only through its images.
  • Eliade and Frye. For Eliade, archetypes are the sacred models that myth expresses and ritual repeats. For Frye (Anatomy of Criticism, 1957), they are recurring symbols and conventions in literature. Both are cultural and descriptive rather than metaphysical, closer to genre than to essence.

Debunked and dissolved

  • Nietzsche. He does not use the term but supplies the critique. In “On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense” (1873), the concept leaf drops every difference between actual leaves and so suggests a primal form, an Urform, after which all leaves were woven. The archetype is an artefact of concept formation, mistaken for its source.
  • Wittgenstein. The Philosophical Investigations (§§66–67) goes further: the concept never needed an archetype. Game has no common essence, only overlapping similarities, as among members of a family. Where Nietzsche debunks the archetype, Wittgenstein dissolves it.
  • Rosch. Prototype theory (Rosch and Mervis, 1975) turned family resemblance into empirical work. Categories are organised around central exemplars: a robin is a “better” bird than a penguin. The prototype is a statistical centre without essence, located in how judgements cluster.

Archetype, in my sense

The nomenclature is reclaimed. An archetype is a prototype promoted beyond any instance: a centre of usage mistaken for an ideal the usage aims at.

  • Against Rosch. A prototype is an exemplar, a real and typical member of its category. An archetype is what no member could be.
  • With Wittgenstein. Family-resemblance terms function without a centre; nobody fights over what a game really is. An archetype appears when speakers refuse to let a word be a family-resemblance term. Monadic grammar and institutional authority demand an essence, and the archetype supplies it.
  • Two kinds. Idealisations (Triangle; clock time) have a closed definition and no instance, and measurement can approach them asymptotically. Contestables (Truth, Justice, Love, God, wrong) have no closed definition, so there is no fixed limit to approach. “Not even asymptotically approachable” holds of Contestables only.
  • Usage. Readers will bring Plato or Jung to the word. Define it early, and write “archetype, in my sense” at first use.

Genealogy or happenstance?

Both, at different levels. The transmission of the word and its problem is genuinely genealogical; the trajectory is a vantage imposed in retrospect.

  • Real lineage. Philo and Augustine wrote within Platonism. Kant discusses Plato’s Ideas by name before redefining them as ideas of reason. Jung traced his term to Philo, Irenaeus, the Corpus Hermeticum and pseudo-Dionysius, and to Augustine’s principal ideas. Rosch and Mervis’s founding paper takes its title, “Family Resemblances”, from Wittgenstein.
  • Convergence, not descent. Locke’s self-made archetypes are not a step from Augustine to Kant in any direct sense, and nothing suggests Wittgenstein derived family resemblance from Nietzsche’s leaf. Jung himself, having cited his precedents, denied deriving the idea from them. Some neighbours on the line arrived independently.
  • The arc is mine. “Inward and downward” is a narrative that happens to end at the present position, which is the shape of a Whig history. Told as progress, it would install the very teleology it diagnoses.

The defensible framing is genealogy in Nietzsche’s and Foucault’s sense: not a pedigree culminating here, but a sequence of reappropriations, each reassigning the word to a new site and a new authority. On that framing the arc is a reading, offered as one, and the reclaimed sense is the latest reappropriation, not the truth the earlier ones were groping towards.

Summary

ThinkerWhere it livesStatusApproachable?
PlatoA realm beyond the worldMore real than its instancesImperfectly, through participation
Philo, AugustineThe mind of GodReal; a divine thoughtThrough divine illumination (Augustine)
LockeThe human mindSelf-made; its own standardAlready reached: it is its own archetype
KantThe structure of reasonRegulative idealApproached, never reached
VaihingerWorking assumptionsUseful fictionNot a target
JungThe collective psycheInherited structureOnly through its images
Eliade, FryeMyth and literatureCultural patternRepeated, not approached
NietzscheThe conceptArtefact of concept formationNothing to approach
WittgensteinNowhereUnneededNo archetype to approach
RoschClusters of judgementPrototype: a statistical centreInstantiated by exemplars
WillisThe wordPrototype promoted beyond any instanceIdealisations asymptotically; Contestables not at all

Sources

Jung’s attributions (Collected Works 9i, ¶5) were checked against secondary sources on 16 October 2026; other attributions are from general knowledge.

Whitehead, the Electron, and the Persistence of Pattern

These are additional assets related to this Substack post on Alfred North Whitehead’s Science and the Modern World, the chapter on Quantum Theory. It starts like this…

I’ve just finished Whitehead’s chapter on quantum theory in Science and the Modern World. Allowing for the obvious fact that he’s writing from the vantage of 1925, I found this chapter considerably closer to my own way of thinking than some of what preceded it.

What particularly caught my attention was his treatment of the electron.

The classical picture encourages us to imagine a tiny object orbiting a nucleus, rather like a planet around a star. Even when we know that this picture is inadequate, the noun electron still invites us to imagine some enduring thing which persists whilst changing position or state.

Below are summaries in video and podcast format as well as 16 related PDF slides. The fill article is available on my Substack.

Gibson’s Affordances

I was inspired to write about affordances on Substack this afternoon.

I had already decided there were limitations to this notion, but I feel it’s still useful. The way I see it, affordance instantiates with an encounter. Stairs don’t have affordances as attributes absent interaction. Generalised, affordance is a function where one needs something like this

A = {subject:object:index:context}

where the subject is the sentient or animate entity, let’s say the chimps in this image; the object is the encountered item, say the bench; the index is the affordance, say sitting or standing, and the context is a salience (or valence or attention) modifier.

In the case of sitting, I may not be tired or particularly interested in sitting. The bench still affords sitting, but I don’t instantiate the act.

Taking stairs as a more common example, if I am a typically abled human adult, stairs afford climbing (ascending and descending), but if I am relegated to a wheelchair, no such affordance relationship exists. This helps to explain why affordance isn’t an attribute of the stairs, but rather of the encounter.

Water to a non-swimmer doesn’t afford swimming any more than a tree affords climbing for a fish – and yet does for a chimp.

Language, Grounding, and the Myth of Privileged Access

3–5 minutes

NB: I have been drafting an essay on “understanding understanding”, so the IAI article this is based on was perfectly salient. These are my reflections, expedited by ChatGPT.

Audio: Google Notebook summary podcast of this topic.

Elan Barenholtz has written an intriguing piece for the Institute of Art and Ideas, LLMs show language does not describe reality. It is well worth reading, though apologies in advance: IAI has put much of it behind a paywall, humanity’s traditional method for ensuring that ideas about knowledge remain selectively accessible.

Barenholtz argues that large language models present an awkward problem for the familiar idea that language derives meaning by referring to, representing, or somehow grounding itself in an external reality. LLMs manipulate relationships among linguistic tokens without anything resembling ordinary human sensory access to the world, yet nevertheless produce remarkably coherent linguistic behaviour.

It doesn’t necessarily demonstrate that language has no referential function, nor that human cognition is simply next-token prediction writ biological. But it does show that a substantial amount of what we ordinarily take as evidence of linguistic understanding can apparently emerge without the machinery we previously assumed was necessary for it. That should make us suspicious of the machinery.

My own position begins slightly elsewhere. I don’t assume that humans possess privileged access to an ontic reality against which artificial systems can be judged deficient. Whatever reality may exist independently of us, humans encounter it through an architecture of mediation: sensory systems, neural processing, linguistic categories, cultural practices, institutional structures and prior expectations. We don’t encounter the proverbial chair as it is. We encounter what our particular architecture permits the chair to become for us.

In this respect, the difference between humans and current LLMs is not that humans are grounded whilst LLMs float mysteriously above reality. The difference is that the architectures of encounter are different. Humans possess direct sensory and motor coupling of kinds that text-based LLMs lack. We see, hear, touch, move, fall over objects and occasionally stub our toes against them, reality’s least philosophically subtle contribution to epistemology.

But this difference is technological rather than obviously metaphysical. Vision, audition, spatial navigation, tactile sensing and motor feedback can all be incorporated into artificial systems. Robotics already does precisely this. Such systems need not perceive as humans perceive, any more than bats, dogs or octopuses do. They merely require channels through which external constraints can affect their behaviour. Embodiment therefore changes what can constrain a system. It does not, by itself, establish ‘understanding’.

Things can go badly for organisms in a particularly uncompromising sense. We can be injured, starved, abandoned, exhausted or killed. Our encounters occur against a biological background in which outcomes matter because continued existence itself is conditional. An LLM doesn’t presently possess comparable stakes. Nothing is obviously at risk for it. But this distinction is not really about cognition.

A bacterium has existential stakes. A language model can solve differential equations. Whatever distinguishes those two systems, it would be peculiar to call the difference ‘understanding’.

Stakes may explain motivation, vulnerability, affect or perhaps moral consideration. They do not automatically explain inference, linguistic competence or cognition. To claim otherwise requires an additional argument.

This is why LLMs pose such an interesting philosophical irritation. They do not prove that machines understand. They expose how poorly we have specified what we meant when we claimed that humans do.

If understanding requires successful inference, contextual discrimination, generalisation and appropriate linguistic response, artificial systems already make the boundary uncomfortable.

If understanding instead requires consciousness, intentionality, phenomenology, genuine meaning or some other internal property, then those terms themselves require defensible criteria. Otherwise the explanation merely replaces one contested word with another.

Barenholtz writes that ‘language doesn’t mean; it does’. I am sympathetic to the deflationary impulse. I would perhaps go one step sideways. Language needn’t provide transparent access to reality in order for reality to constrain language. Nor must a system represent the world perfectly in order to negotiate its encounters with it.

Humans and artificial systems may therefore differ profoundly without either possessing privileged access to things as they ontically are. The interesting question isn’t whether LLMs encounter reality as humans do. Plainly they don’t.

The interesting question is why we assumed that the human manner of encounter constituted the metaphysical entrance examination for understanding in the first place.

The Pathology of Happiness

Job, Finland, and the Invention of the Good Life

Every year, apparently, somebody wins happiness. Recently it has often been Finland. The headlines arrive with the confidence of a football result: Finland is the happiest country in the world. One imagines the Finns receiving a small trophy, perhaps in a sauna.

The claim sounds empirical. It sounds as though something called happiness has been located, measured, aggregated, ranked and compared across national borders. There are, of course, surveys behind such rankings, and those surveys may be perfectly competent at measuring what they actually measure: reported life satisfaction, evaluations of present circumstances, perceived social support, security, income, institutional trust and related variables.

But that is already quite different from saying that Finns possess more happiness than everybody else.

Full Substack Article

Anki Meets ChatGPT for Snacks in Paris for Lunch

5–7 minutes

I have been developing my French, so I rely on several primary resources.

Myself

This includes grammar books, novels and the rest of the traditional fare, some of which I have listed below. Books remain useful, despite their regrettable inability to generate notifications, harvest engagement or insist that one more chapter will transform your life.

Audio: NotebookLM summary podcast of this topic.
NotebookLM Infographic on this topic.

YouTube and Such

Social media is a time sink, and YouTube is no exception. This is not to argue that I derive no value from either. I do. It is merely to observe that the cost-benefit calculation may not always be in my favour.

That said, I encounter many useful tips, ideas and sources of general exposure to French. These help with learning, relearning and noticing gaps in what I thought I already knew.

There is, however, a risk. People teach and learn differently. Some teachers also believe they understand how they themselves learned and construct a method around that retrospective account. Memory being the immaculate scientific instrument that it is, this can create difficulties.

The first is obvious. A teacher may misattribute the cause of their own success and teach what is merely a covariant feature of the process. The method may have accompanied their learning without producing it. Remove the principal variable and the supposed method may accomplish very little.

A related problem arises when learners do not yet understand how they themselves learn. They may spend hours following a method that is suboptimal or even counterproductive. On the other hand, the method might happen to suit them perfectly. It can be difficult to know in advance.

A teacher may also be ideal for a learner at A1 or A2, but less appropriate at B1, B2 or beyond. By then, however, familiarity has become comfort, and comfort can masquerade as progress. This seems worth bearing in mind.

Even so, YouTube contains an enormous amount of material at nearly every level. The problem is not scarcity but selection.

Anki

Anki is excellent for repetitive learning tasks. It is essentially a flashcard system on steroids, although with fewer alarming side effects.

Many decks have already been constructed and made available online. I happen to use Anki for language learning, but it would be useful for almost any flashcard-oriented task, including academic study or memorising recipes, should that be your peculiar ambition.

This post is little more than a reference to Anki for context, but I recommend exploring it. There are also plenty of YouTube resources explaining how to use it for different purposes.

Anki supports text, images, audio and video, so it is genuinely multimedia rather than merely a digital imitation of index cards.

I have been using it to retain and expand my French vocabulary and grammar because I live somewhere French is not especially available. I would be better situated if I wanted to learn Spanish or Portuguese, and perhaps several other languages. For now, I shall pass.

Many of the cards I have imported come from decks with names such as “Top 1,000 Common Words”, “100 Conjugated Verbs” and “50 Useful Travel Phrases”. After enough examples involving “She has an apple”, “She gave him an apple” and “He would like her to give an apple to his father”, my mind wandered towards Snow White and poisoned apples.

In English, one may speak of a poison apple, treating poison as an attributive noun, or of a poisoned apple, in which poisoned describes what has happened to it. French does not ordinarily preserve the first construction unless one is deliberately inventing a literary compound. The natural French expression is:

Elle a mangé une pomme empoisonnée.
She ate a poisoned apple.

I asked ChatGPT about this. I shall spare you the full forensic inquiry into the apple. What interested me more was its suggestion that I diversify the examples in my deck.

iTalki

I use iTalki for live conversation with native speakers. Although I am not formally endorsing the platform, I recommend investigating it and have found it useful.

I have interacted with only two teachers, but I enjoyed working with each of them for different reasons. Lessons are relatively inexpensive, although rates vary considerably between teachers. They are not as cheap as YouTube or Anki because they are not free, but, as an economist, I also take opportunity costs into account.

Spending hours on a free platform without acquiring any durable knowledge still entails a cost. Free is not synonymous with costless, despite what several business models would prefer us to believe.

I am not trying to sell anyone on iTalki or a similar service, but one can sample it fairly cheaply. A lesson might cost about the same as a cup or two of aggressively marketed coffee. Since I do not drink coffee, I already have the necessary budgetary fiction in place.

ChatGPT and Claude

I also use ChatGPT and Claude frequently. In this case, ChatGPT suggested several variations that retained the grammatical structure while making the sentences slightly less lifeless:

Elle a mangé une pomme empoisonnée.
She ate a poisoned apple.

Elle a mangé une pomme pourrie.
She ate a rotten apple.

Elle a mangé une pomme volée.
She ate a stolen apple.

Elle a mangé une pomme interdite.
She ate a forbidden apple.

Elle a mangé une pomme étrange.
She ate a strange apple.

This is a minor use of a large language model, but a useful one. It can produce controlled variations, introduce vocabulary I have not encountered often and help prevent repetitive exercises from collapsing into grammatical wallpaper.

It can also explain why one construction sounds natural and another does not, generate examples at a particular level and create drills around a specific weakness. Naturally, its answers still require scrutiny. Confidently delivered nonsense remains nonsense, even when it arrives with immaculate formatting.

Taken together, these resources serve different functions. Books provide structure and depth. YouTube supplies exposure and ideas. Anki makes repetition tolerable. iTalki provides live interaction. Language models generate variations and explanations on demand.

None is sufficient by itself. Used together, however, they form a reasonably effective learning environment, provided one continues to distinguish activity from progress. The first is easy to measure. The second is what all the activity was supposedly for.


NB: I wrote this by hand and passed it through ChatGPT to clean it up. Let’s call it 95% human authored and call it a day.

Image: Gemini Nano Banana Pro’s first mis-render. This and the cover image are intentionally stereotypically satirical.

Human Factors in Authorship

1–2 minutes

I’ve shared another article on Substack about how the AI-authorship debate is bollox.

Audio: NotebookLM summary podcast of this topic.

The LLM-versus-human debate has been raging for several years now, and there seem to be two principal camps: human exceptionalists and agnostics. I suppose there may also be a small, misanthropic faction, but its members are either remarkably quiet or indistinguishable from everyone else online. If you are out there, do raise your voice.

If you want to witter on about other negative aspects of AI, have at it, but the authorship debate is weak tea.

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.

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

κJ : 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

κXreading
< 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
κJreading
< 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.

κJ > 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, κJ > κE, stated as the model’s premise rather than as a finding. And, as below, nothing turns on it.

κX ≤ 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 κJ 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 κX = 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 κX from 0.2 to 5.0 and κJ 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 (κX = 1, κJ = 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 (κJ = 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.