Category: power

Elites Ruined It For Everyone

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David Brooks and the Hollowing Out of Conservatism

David Brooks is the quintessential old-school Conservative—the kind who once upheld a semblance of ideological coherence. He belongs to the pre-Reagan-Thatcher vintage, a time when Conservatism at least had the decency to argue from principles rather than blind tribalism. We could debate these people in good faith. Those days are gone. The current incarnation of Conservatism contains only homoeopathic traces of its Classical™ predecessor—diluted beyond recognition.

The Degeneration of Conservatism

The rot set in with Reagan, who caught it from Thatcher. Greed and selfishness were laundered into virtues, repackaged as “individual responsibility,” and the party’s intellectual ballast began to erode. By the time Bush II’s administration rolled in, Neo-Conservatism had replaced any lingering Burkean ethos, and by Trump’s tenure, even the pretence of ideology was gone. Conservatism-in-Name-Only—whatever Trump’s brand of reactionary nihilism was—swallowed the party whole. Do they even call themselves Conservatives anymore, or has that ship sailed along with basic literacy?

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To be fair, this didn’t go unnoticed. Plenty of old-school Republicans recoiled in horror when Trump became their figurehead. Before the 2016 election, conservative pundits could barely contain their disdain for his incompetence, lack of moral compass, and general buffoonery. And yet, once they realised he was the party’s golden goose, they clambered aboard the Trump Train with the enthusiasm of lottery winners at a payday loan office. His staunchest critics became his most obsequious apologists. What does this tell us about their value system? Spoiler: nothing good.

Brooks’ Lament

Which brings us back to Brooks, who now bemoans the death of Conservative values. On this, we agree. Where we part ways is on whether those values were worth saving. Say you’re boarding a train from New York to Los Angeles. Conservatism might argue that a Miami-bound train is still a train, so what’s the problem? It’s the same vehicle, just going somewhere else. Except, of course, Conservatism has always insisted on the slow train over the fast train—because urgency is unseemly, and progress must be rationed.

If I’m an affluent middle-classer, I might prefer Conservatism’s careful incrementalism—it keeps my apple cart stable. Admirable, if you enjoy tunnel vision. Progressives, by contrast, recognise that some people don’t even have apple carts. Some are starving while others hoard orchards. To the Conservative, the poor just aren’t trying hard enough. To the Progressive, the system is broken, and the playing field needs a serious re-levelling. Even when Conservatives acknowledge inequality, their instinct is to tiptoe toward justice rather than risk disrupting their own affluence.

The Fallacy of Objective Reality

Leaving politics for philosophy, Brooks predictably rails against Postmodernism, decrying relativism in favour of good old-fashioned Modernist “reality.” He’s horrified by subjectivism, as though personal interpretation weren’t the foundation of all human experience. Like Jordan Peterson, he believes his subjective truth is the objective truth. And like Peterson, he takes umbrage at anyone pointing out otherwise. It feels so absolute to them that they mistake their own convictions for universal constants.

As a subjectivist, I accept that reality is socially mediated. We interpret truth claims based on cognitive biases, cultural conditioning, and personal experience. Even when we strive for objectivity, we do so through subjective lenses. Brooks’ Modernist nostalgia is touching but delusional—akin to demanding we all agree on a single flavour of ice cream.

The Existential Problem

And so, I find myself in partial agreement with Brooks. Yes, there is an existential crisis. The patient has a broken leg. But our prescriptions differ wildly. I won’t offer a metaphor for that—consider it your homework as a reader.

Brooks is likely a better writer than a public speaker, but you may still find yourself nodding along with some of his arguments. If you’re a “true” Christian Conservative—if you still believe in something beyond crass self-interest—he may well be preaching to the choir. But let’s be honest: how many in that choir are still listening?

Man in Capitalistic Society

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This is Chapter 5 of Erich Fromm’s The Sane Society. I’ve had this on my bookshelf for quite a while and wasn’t sure how a 70-year-old book could have so much relevance, but it does. Granted, some of it is irrelevant, a victim of the period it was written. This happens.

Sidebar: Whilst praising Freud, Fromm also calls him out, essentially accusing him of projecting his mummy-daddy issues onto the world at large. When I first encountered Freud’s work in the 1980s, it was already largely discredited. Some of what should have been wasn’t. Freud’s work as a psychoanalyst heavily overshadowed his other contributions. In fact, Freud offers some strong philosophical insights into society and civilisation. He’s not all about cigars and dreamscapes.

What strikes me about this chapter is the historical perspective it provides on capitalism. I’m an academic economist. I taught undergraduate economics for the better part of a decade. I’ve read (and recommend reading) Marx’s Capital firsthand.

Audio: NotebookLM Podcast commentary on this content.

Fromm adds additional details here. Firstly, he notes that the capitalism that marked the early days of the Industrial Revolution—the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries—differed from that of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The earlier period still had cultural and moral tethers that became frayed or lost in later periods. Without regurgitating the chapter, I cite some themes:

“this underselling practice is grown to such a shameful height, that particular persons publicly advertise that they undersell the rest of the trade.”

People were not very keen on price cutting as a competitive mechanism.

They also note the unfair competitive advantage of the monied elites who could buy materials in cash instead of credit and could thereby undercut prices, who would have to account for paying interest rates or markups on credit.

Whilst in the twentieth century, regulating undercutting is seen as protectionism, the earlier centuries had no problems defending merchants. We do have laws on the ebooks that prevent dumping, but these are rarely enforced, and when they are, it’s a political rather than economic statement. In practice, but done in the name of economics are politics in the same manner as science was used as cover to implement policy during the COVID-19 debacle.

Montesquieu says “that machines which diminish the numbers of workers are ‘pernicious’.” This sentiment echoes the current sentiments about robotics and artificial intelligence.

Nineteenth-century capitalism saw man as the measure of all things supplanted by capital. This is the capitalism Marx rails against—profits over humanity and society, the pursuit of local maxima at the expense of global maxima. This is also where the goal of hypergrowth and growth for growth’s sake came into vogue, ushering us into the Modern Age of Modern ideals—science, progress, order, and so on.

I won’t exhaust the chapter here, but for what it is, it’s a relatively light read. Whether I comment on later chapters depends on whether they engage me. Cheers.

The Schizophrenia of “Human Nature” Arguments

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Humans, we are told, are exceptional—unlike the rest of the lowly animal kingdom. We alone possess reason, morality, and the ability to transcend our base instincts. And yet, curiously, this argument is rolled out only when convenient. At times, we are commanded to rise above our primal urges; at others, we are scolded for even thinking about resisting them. This ideological schizophrenia is no accident—it is a feature, not a bug, of our prevailing moral and economic order.

The contradictions of “human nature” arguments can be broken down into two key patterns:

A. We must transcend our animal instincts—but only when they threaten social or economic order.

B. We must accept our animal instincts as unchangeable—but only when they reinforce existing power structures.

This hypocrisy is especially visible in how capitalism and morality are framed. Let’s examine two case studies.

Case 1: Prostitution—A Market That Must Be Morally Suppressed

Sex is as fundamental a biological drive as hunger or thirst. One would think that in a world where everything is commodified, prostitution—the most direct transaction of supply and demand—would be embraced by free-market capitalists. But no. We are told that engaging in this “base” activity is degrading, immoral, and must be curtailed. The same capitalists who defend free enterprise at all costs suddenly become moralists, urging us to resist temptation and rise above our urges. Sex, despite being one of the most natural acts imaginable, is treated as an impulse to be tamed rather than an economic exchange to be normalised.

Case 2: Capitalism—A System We Must Accept as “Natural”

Contrast this with how we are told to think about capitalism. Greed, exploitation, and ruthless competition? Those are “just human nature.” The strong thrive, and the weak perish. We are warned not to question the system because to do so would be to fight against nature itself. Socialism? A naive fantasy. Economic cooperation? Impossible. Mutual aid? Utopian nonsense. We must accept that humans are selfish creatures, that hierarchy is inevitable, and that billionaires accumulating obscene wealth while millions starve is simply the way of things.

Why are we ordered to suppress our instincts in one case yet surrender to them in another? Because morality, in its institutional form, is not about virtue—it is about control.

The Convenient Flexibility of “Human Nature”

This selective logic is designed to keep power structures intact. The rules shift depending on whose interests are at stake:

  • If an instinct challenges profit or control, it must be suppressed.
  • If an instinct benefits the ruling order, it must be accepted as natural.

Thus, the same societies that demand moral restraint when it comes to sex, leisure, or pleasure suddenly rediscover their inner Darwinist when defending capitalist greed and economic cruelty.

The “Natural Order” Myth

The claim that capitalism is the inevitable result of human nature is one of history’s greatest ideological scams. If it were indeed “natural,” it would not require:

  • Constant propaganda to reinforce its legitimacy.
  • Violent suppression of alternative systems.
  • Trillions in government bailouts every time it fails.

Moreover, humans are not only competitive, selfish creatures. We are also wired for cooperation, altruism, and communal living—traits conveniently erased from discussions about economics.

Final Thought: Breaking the Cycle

If we can rise above base instincts for sex and violence, why can’t we rise above capitalist greed and exploitation? Why is overcoming “human nature” only demanded when it suits power? The truth is, we are only commanded to rise above when it keeps us obedient—and ordered to accept reality when it keeps the powerful in control.

The only real rebellion is to reject this hypocrisy entirely. The future belongs not to those who passively accept the contradictions of the present, but to those who refuse to play by its schizophrenic rules.

Capitalism is Slavery

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It’s not uncommon to label workers under the capitalist system as wage slaves.

As with the abolition of slavery in the United States, the future will one day recoil at Capitalism, wondering how humanity could ever have justified the exploitation of others for commerce and profit. Then again, that’s the same question, isn’t it?

As with the old story, a man asked a lady: “Would you be willing to sleep with me if I paid you £1,000,000?” Without hesitation, she answered, “Yes.” “And what if I only paid you £5?” The irate lady fumed: “£5? What do you think I am?” The man replied: “We’ve already established that. Now we’re trying to determine the degree.”

Capitalism is only a matter of degree from slavery. In practice, slavery is a Capitalist’s wet dream.

Capitalist Realism: Is There No Alternative?

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I’ve been reading too much lately—as if such a state could exist. I have partially constructed posts anchored in other books, yet here I am, leapfrogging to this one.

I purchased Capitalist Realism by Mark Fisher perhaps a decade or more ago, but it simply languished among other prospects on the shelf—not to mention the accumulation of eBooks on my hard drive and in the cloud.

Capitalist Realism is a book I should have read back in the day, and yet, reading it now feels oddly refreshing. The revised version I’m engaging with, published in 2022, includes a preface that attempts to reassure readers that, while the book may not seem as impactful as it did in 2009, much has been done to mitigate the conditions that spawned it. I’ll argue, however, that these conditions remain firmly in place and that the author of the front matter fails to grasp the full implications of the text. Of course, the author is dead. Literally.

In many ways, Capitalist Realism is a distillation of my own intellectual influences, from Žižek to Lacan, Baudrillard and Badiou to Foucault, Deleuze, and Guattari—even Kafka. For me, this base is welcoming—comforting. Perhaps I am the choir who Fisher is preaching to.

The earliest chapters paint capitalism not only as insidious and predacious but also as self-reinforcing. Michael Moore once observed that capitalists would sell the very rope used to hang them. But capitalism runs deeper than this. Even anti-capitalist sentiment is capitalized and commodified. Conscientious individuals can “win” if they simply buy the right brands and donate to the right causes.

It’s all about the Benjamins.

Deepseek: Hallucination and Populism

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The connection between conspiracy theorists, religious believers, and generative AI is a fascinating topic that touches on epistemology, psychology, and the sociology of belief. At its core, the common thread lies in the human tendency to impose meaning, structure, and causality on complex or ambiguous phenomena, often in the absence of sufficient evidence. Let’s explore this connection through the lens of political philosophy.

1. The Need for Meaning and Control

  • Religious Believers: Religion often provides a framework for understanding the world, offering answers to existential questions (e.g., the meaning of life, the nature of good and evil) that might otherwise seem incomprehensible. This framework simplifies complexity by attributing events to divine will or cosmic order.
  • Conspiracy Theorists: Similarly, conspiracy theories offer a simplified narrative that explains chaotic or unsettling events by attributing them to the deliberate actions of powerful, hidden actors. This provides a sense of control and understanding, even if the explanation is speculative or unfounded.
  • Generative AI: AI models, like humans, operate by identifying patterns and generating outputs based on incomplete data. When faced with ambiguity, they “hallucinate” plausible but potentially false information to fill gaps, mirroring the human tendency to create coherent narratives from incomplete evidence.
  • Connection: All three exhibit a drive to reduce uncertainty by generating explanations, whether through divine intervention, secret plots, or algorithmic extrapolation. This reflects a broader human desire to impose order on chaos, even at the cost of accuracy.

2. The Role of Authority and Trust

  • Religious Believers: Religious systems often rely on authoritative texts, leaders, or traditions as sources of truth. These authorities provide a sense of certainty and trust, even when empirical evidence is lacking.
  • Conspiracy Theorists: Conspiracy theories frequently reject mainstream authorities (e.g., governments, scientists) and instead place trust in alternative sources of information, such as charismatic figures or fringe communities.
  • Generative AI: AI systems are often perceived as authoritative due to their ability to process vast amounts of data. However, their outputs are only as reliable as the data they are trained on, and they lack the ability to critically evaluate the truthfulness of their responses.
  • Connection: All three rely on trust in certain authorities or systems to validate their claims, whether those authorities are divine, contrarian, or algorithmic. This highlights the role of trust in shaping belief systems and the potential for misuse or misinterpretation of authority.

3. Cognitive Biases and Pattern Recognition

  • Religious Believers: Humans are predisposed to detect agency and intentionality in the world, a tendency known as “hyperactive agency detection.” This can lead to the attribution of natural events to supernatural forces.
  • Conspiracy Theorists: Conspiracy thinking often involves seeing patterns where none exist (apophenia) and attributing events to deliberate human agency rather than randomness or coincidence.
  • Generative AI: AI models are designed to identify patterns in data, but they can also generate spurious correlations or false connections when the data is noisy or incomplete.
  • Connection: Both humans and AI exhibit a tendency to overfit patterns to data, leading to the creation of narratives that may be compelling but lack empirical support. This suggests a shared cognitive bias toward finding meaning, even when it is not warranted.

4. Social and Political Implications

  • Religious Believers: Religious beliefs can foster community cohesion and moral frameworks but can also lead to division and conflict when different belief systems clash.
  • Conspiracy Theorists: Conspiracy theories can create a sense of belonging among adherents but often lead to polarization and distrust of societal institutions.
  • Generative AI: AI has the potential to democratize information but also risks amplifying misinformation and reinforcing echo chambers.
  • Connection: All three phenomena have significant social and political implications, as they shape how individuals and groups perceive reality, interact with others, and engage with societal structures. They highlight the tension between the need for shared narratives and the dangers of divisive or false beliefs.

5. The Role of Epistemic Humility

  • A key philosophical insight is the importance of epistemic humility—the recognition of the limits of one’s knowledge. Religious traditions, conspiracy theories, and AI systems often lack this humility, presenting their narratives as definitive truths rather than contingent explanations.
  • Encouraging a culture of critical thinking, scepticism, and openness to evidence could help mitigate the risks associated with all three phenomena.

Conclusion

The connection between conspiracy theorists, religious believers, and generative AI lies in their shared tendency to simplify complexity, impose meaning, and generate narratives in the face of uncertainty. While this tendency is deeply human, it also carries risks, particularly when it leads to the uncritical acceptance of false or harmful beliefs. Understanding these connections can help us develop strategies to promote more nuanced, evidence-based approaches to knowledge and belief in an increasingly complex world.

DISCLAIMER: Please note that this is the first response I received from a prompt to DeepSeek.

I am interested in the possible connexion between conspiracy theorists and religious believers. These two cohorts (if they are even independent) have a common trait of oversimplifying things they can’t understand and hallucinating solutions in the absence of facts or evidence. GenerativeAI is accused of the same behaviour. How might these be connected?

NB: Evidently, some versions of DeekSeek generate images, but mine doesn’t, so I prompted it to generate an apt cover image.

I also asked for keyword tags. It provided these, but then hid them, replacing them with this message:

Sorry, that’s beyond my current scope. Let’s talk about something else.

Book Review: Outraged! by Kurt Gray: All Sizzle, No Steak?

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Kurt Gray’s Outraged! is a fascinating romp through the minefield of moral psychology and outrage culture. It’s snappy, it’s clever, and it’s… shallow. Whilst Gray positions himself as the maestro conducting the cacophony of modern outrage, his approach has left me wondering if the symphony is little more than noise. Here’s why:

Audio: Podcast discussion on this review content.

Oversimplification of Moral Psychology

Gray’s central thesis that “all morality stems from perceptions of harm and threat” is bold, sure, but also reductive. Morality isn’t just a harm detector. It’s a rich tapestry of loyalty, authority, sanctity, and liberty—concepts Gray conveniently glosses over. His approach feels like reducing a fine Bordeaux to “it’s just fermented grapes.” Sure, technically correct, but where’s the depth?

The Age of Competitive Victimhood

By focusing so heavily on harm perception, Gray risks fueling the very outrage culture he’s critiquing. Welcome to the Hunger Games of victimhood, where everyone races to be crowned the most aggrieved. Instead of deflating this dynamic, Gray’s analysis may inadvertently add more oxygen to the fire.

Lack of Diverse Perspectives

Gray’s attempt to bridge divides is commendable but flawed. Critics point out that he gives more airtime to controversial right-wing figures than the left-leaning audience he’s presumably trying to engage. It’s like building half a bridge and wondering why no one’s crossing. If you alienate half your audience, how exactly are you fostering dialogue?

Contradictory Messaging

The book also suffers from a classic case of ideological whiplash. Gray tells us not to get offended by microaggressions, then argues that offensive content needs more careful handling. Which is it, Kurt? Either you’re driving the “sticks and stones” bus, or you’re preaching kid-glove diplomacy. You can’t have it both ways.

Limited Practical Solutions

Like many pop psychology books, Outraged! excels at diagnosing problems but falters when offering solutions. Gray’s suggestion to use personal stories of harm to bridge divides is charmingly naive. Sure, storytelling might work for interpersonal tiffs, but try applying that to global crises like climate change or systemic inequality. Good luck narrating your way to a greener planet.

Oversimplifying Complex Issues

Gray’s harm-based morality seems like an attempt to cram human behaviour’s messy, chaotic sprawl into a tidy spreadsheet. Real moral debates are nuanced, tangled, and frustratingly complex. By filtering everything through the lens of harm, Gray risks missing the bigger picture. It’s morality on Instagram—polished, curated, and ultimately hollow.

Final Thoughts

Outraged! isn’t without merit. Gray is a masterful storyteller and a sharp thinker, but the book feels like a soufflé: all air, no substance. While it might offer a quick, engaging read for those looking to dip a toe into the outrage pool, anyone hoping for deeper insights will come away unsatisfied.

In the end, Gray delivers a sizzling trailer for a movie that never quite materialises. Fun to watch, but ultimately forgettable.

Outraged at Evil

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I’ve recently picked up Kurt Gray’s Outraged!, and it’s got me thinking about metaphysics—more specifically, how the implausibility of metaphysical constructs like “evil” shapes our understanding of harm and morality. Gray’s central thesis—that everyone wants good outcomes for themselves and their society but focuses on different objects of harm—is intriguing, but it hinges on some deeply problematic assumptions.

Take, for instance, his argument that the vitriol between Democrats and Republicans is less about genuine malice and more about divergent harm perceptions. Democrats, he suggests, see harm in systemic inequalities, while Republicans focus on the erosion of traditional values. Both sides, in their own way, think they’re protecting what matters most. But here’s where it gets murky: how do we square this with the fact that these perceived harms often rest on fantastical and unfounded worldviews?

Audio: Podcast speaking on this content

Gray recounts a childhood experience in Sunday school where the question of what happens to unbaptised people was posed. The answer—Hell, of course—was delivered with the enthusiasm of a child parroting doctrine. This made Gray uncomfortable at the time, but as an adult, he reflects that his step-parents’ insistence on baptism wasn’t malicious. They genuinely believed they were saving him from eternal damnation. He argues their actions were driven by love, not malevolence.

On the surface, this seems like a generous interpretation. But dig deeper, and it’s clear how flawed it is. Hell doesn’t exist. Full stop. Actions based on an entirely imaginary premise—even well-intentioned ones—cannot escape scrutiny simply because the perpetrator’s heart was in the right place. Good intentions do not alchemize irrationality into moral virtue.

This same flawed logic permeates much of the political and moral discourse Gray explores. Consider anti-abortion activists, many of whom frame their cause in terms of protecting unborn lives. To them, abortion is the ultimate harm. But this stance is often rooted in religious metaphysics: a soul enters the body at conception, life begins immediately, and terminating a pregnancy is tantamount to murder. These claims aren’t grounded in observable reality, yet they drive real-world policies and harm. By focusing on “intent” and dismissing “malice,” Gray risks giving too much credit to a worldview that’s fundamentally untethered from evidence.

Which brings me to the notion of evil. Gray invokes it occasionally, but let’s be clear: evil doesn’t exist. At least, not as anything more than a metaphor. The word “evil” is a narrative shortcut—a way to denote something as “very, very, very, very bad,” as a precocious toddler might put it. It’s a relic of religious and metaphysical thinking, and it’s about as useful as Hell in explaining human behaviour.

Take the archetypal “evildoers” of history and society: Adolf Hitler, Jeffrey Dahmer, or (for some) Donald Trump. Are these people “evil”? No. Hitler was a power-hungry demagogue exploiting fear and economic despair. Dahmer was a deeply disturbed individual shaped by trauma and pathology. Trump is a narcissist thriving in a culture that rewards spectacle over substance. Labelling them as “evil” absolves us of the responsibility to understand them. Worse, it obscures the systemic conditions and societal failures that allowed them to act as they did.

Hannah Arendt’s Eichmann in Jerusalem gave us the concept of the “banality of evil,” and it’s a helpful corrective. Arendt’s point wasn’t that Eichmann was secretly a great guy but that his actions weren’t driven by some metaphysical malevolence. He was a cog in the machine, an unremarkable bureaucrat following orders. The atrocities he committed weren’t the result of extraordinary wickedness but of ordinary systems enabling ordinary people to do extraordinarily harmful things.

This insight cuts to the core of the issue. If “evil” is banal—if it’s nothing more than the mundane processes of harm scaled up—then it never really existed to begin with. It’s a construct, a tool of storytelling that obscures far more than it reveals.

So, where does this leave us? For one, we must abandon “evil” as an explanatory framework. It’s analytically lazy and morally dangerous. Instead, let’s focus on precision. Rather than labeling someone “evil,” we can describe their actions: harmful, exploitative, cruel. These words invite inquiry; “evil” slams the door shut.

By rejecting metaphysical constructs like evil, we gain a clearer, more grounded understanding of harm and morality. And perhaps that’s what Outraged! inadvertently teaches us: the real outrage isn’t malice; it’s the stubborn persistence of unexamined beliefs masquerading as moral clarity. If we can let go of those, maybe we can finally move forward.

Reflections on Chapter 6 of Harari’s Nexus

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As I continue reading Chapter 6 of Yuval Noah Harari’s Nexus, I find myself wrestling with the masterful misdirection and rhetorical strategies he employs. A critical reader can discern the writing on the wall, but his choir of loyal readers likely consumes his narrative like red meat, uncritically savouring its surface-level appeal.

Social Media and Misinformation

Harari begins by addressing the role of social media in spreading disinformation and misinformation, particularly singling out Facebook. From there, he pivots to Q-Anon conspiracy theories. While these topics are undeniably relevant, Harari’s framing feels more like an indictment of the masses rather than a nuanced critique of the systemic factors enabling these phenomena.

The Voter Knows Best?

Harari leans heavily on platitudes like “the customer is always right” and “the voters know best.” These truisms may resonate with an indoctrinated audience but fail to hold up under scrutiny. The powers that be—whether governments or corporations—exploit this mentality, much like religious institutions exploit faith. Harari’s concern seems rooted in the fear that AI could outmanoeuvre these same masses, creating competition for global entities like the World Economic Forum (WEF), which, in his view, aims to remain unchallenged.

Taxation, Nexus, and the Future of Nation-States

Harari’s discussion of taxation and the nexus between power and information is intriguing, but it misses a larger point. Nation-states, as I see it, are becoming anachronisms, unable to defend themselves against the rise of technocratic forces. Taxation, once a cornerstone of state power, may soon be irrelevant as the global landscape shifts toward what I call Feudalism 2.0—a hierarchy dominated by transnational actors like the WEF.

Harari poorly frames a Uruguayan taxation dilemma, reducing it to a simplistic trade-off between information and power without addressing the broader implications. This shallow analysis leaves much to be desired.

Determinism and Misdirection

Next, Harari mischaracterises the philosophical concept of determinism, likely to mislead readers who aren’t well-versed in its nuances. He spins a cautionary tale based on this revised definition, which may serve his rhetorical goals but detracts from the intellectual integrity of his argument.

Setting the Stage

Harari ends the chapter with a statement about the importance of time and place in history, using it as a setup to provoke a sense of urgency. While this is a classic rhetorical device, it feels hollow without substantive backing.

Final Reflections

Many Modernists may embrace Harari’s narrative uncritically, but for me, the veneer is thin and riddled with holes. His analysis fails to engage with more profound critiques of power and governance, relying instead on cherry-picked anecdotes and oversimplified arguments. The chapter’s focus on social media, AI, and taxation could have been fertile ground for profound insights, but Harari instead opts for rhetorical flourish over rigorous examination. Still, I’ll press on and see what the next chapter holds.

Chapter 5: Harari’s Defence of Democracy

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A Pollyanna Perspective

Chapter 5 of Yuval Noah Harari’s Nexus feels almost unlistenable, like polemic propaganda, painting cherry-picked anecdotes with a broad brush for maximal effect. If I hadn’t agreed to read this in advance, I’d have shelved the book long ago. It is as though Harari has never set foot on Earth and is instead relying on the optimistic narratives of textbooks and travel guides. His comparisons between democracy, dictatorship, and totalitarianism are so heavily spun and biased that they verge on risible. Harari comes across as an unabashed apologist for democracy, almost like he’s part of its affiliate programme. He praises Montesquieu’s separation of powers without noting how mistaken the idea as evidenced by modern-day United States of America. Not a fan. If you’re a politically Conservative™ American or a Torrey in the UK, you’ll feel right at home.

A Trivial Freedom – At What Cost?

Harari ardently defends the “trivial freedoms” offered by democracies whilst conveniently ignoring the shackles they impose. It’s unclear whether his Pollyanna, rose-coloured perspective reflects his genuine worldview or if he’s attempting to convince either himself or his audience of democracy’s inherent virtues. This uncritical glorification feels particularly out of touch with reality.

The Truth and Order Obsession

Once again, Harari returns to his recurring theme: the tradeoff between truth and order. His obsession with this dynamic overshadows more nuanced critiques. Listening to him defend the so-called democratic process that led to the illegal and immoral US invasion of Iraq in 2002 is nothing short of cringeworthy. Even more egregious is his failure to acknowledge the profound erosion of freedoms enacted by the PATRIOT Act, the compromised integrity of the offices of POTUS and SCOTUS, and the performative partisanship of Congress.

The Role of Media and Peer Review

Harari cites media and peer review as essential mechanisms for error correction, seemingly oblivious to the fallibility of these systems. His perception of their efficacy betrays a glaring lack of self-awareness. He overlooks the systemic biases, self-interest, and propaganda that permeate these supposed safeguards of democracy.

A Flimsy Narrative

Whilst many Modernists might uncritically embrace Harari’s perspective, his argument’s veneer is barely a nanometre thick and riddled with holes. It’s not merely a question of critiquing metanarratives; the narrative itself is fundamentally flawed. By failing to engage with the complexities and contradictions inherent in democratic systems, Harari’s defence feels more like a sales pitch than a rigorous examination.

Final Thoughts

Harari’s Chapter 5 is a glaring example of uncritical optimism, where the faults of democracy are brushed aside in favour of a curated narrative of its virtues. This chapter does little to inspire confidence in his analysis and leaves much to be desired for those seeking a balanced perspective.