Category: society

Surveying Modernity

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A Brief, Brutal Experiment in Categorising Your Worldview

This month, I’ve been tinkering with a little project—an elegant, six-question survey designed to assess where you land in the great intellectual mess that is modernity.

Audio: Podcast discussion about this post.

This isn’t some spur-of-the-moment quiz cooked up in a caffeine-fueled haze. No, this project has been simmering for years, and after much consideration (and occasional disdain), I’ve crafted a set of questions and response options that, I believe, encapsulate the prevailing worldviews of our time.

It all began with Metamodernism, a term that, at first, seemed promising—a bold synthesis of Modernism and Postmodernism, a grand dialectic of the ages. But as I mapped it out, it collapsed under scrutiny. A footnote in the margins of intellectual history, at best. I’ll expand on that in due course.

The Setup: A Simple, Slightly Sadistic Ternary Plot

For the visually inclined (or the masochistically curious), I initially imagined a timeline, then a branching decision tree, then a Cartesian plane before landing on a ternary plot—a three-way visual that captures ideological leanings in a way a boring old bar chart never could.

The survey itself is brief: six questions, each with five possible answers. Submit your responses, and voilà—you get a tidy little ternary chart plotting your intellectual essence, along with a breakdown of what your answers signify.

Methodology: Half-Rigorous, Half-Reckless

I am, after all, a (recovering) statistician, so I’ve tried to uphold proper methodology while also fast-tracking certain safeguards for the sake of efficiency. If there’s enough interest, I may expand the survey, adding more questions or increasing response flexibility (tick boxes instead of radio buttons—revolutionary, I know).

Privacy Concerns? Relax. I’m not harvesting your data for some nefarious scheme. No personally identifiable information is collected—just a timestamp, session ID, and your browser’s language setting. I did consider tracking IP addresses to analyze regional trends but ultimately scrapped that idea.

In the future, I may add an optional email feature for those who wish to save and track their responses over time (assuming anyone is unhinged enough to take this more than once).

The Rest of the Story: Your Feedback, My Amusement

Since this is a personal project crafted in splendid isolation, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Are the questions reasonable? Do the response options make sense? Does the summary feel accurate? Is the ternary chart decipherable, or have I constructed a glorified inkblot test?

As an academic, economist, and statistician, I had never encountered a ternary chart before embarking on this, and now I rather enjoy it. That said, I also find Nietzsche “intuitive,” so take that as you will.

If this gains traction, expect follow-up content—perhaps videos, podcasts, or further written explorations.

Your Move

Take the survey. It’s painless, requiring mere minutes of your life (which is, let’s be honest, already wasted online). And because I’m feeling generous, you can even generate a PDF to stick on your fridge, next to your collection of expired coupons and disappointing takeout menus.

Click here to take the survey.

Let’s see where you stand in the grand, chaotic landscape of modernity. Or at least, let’s have a laugh trying to make sense of it.

DISCLAIMER: The Modernity Worldview Survey is not scientific. It is designed as an experiment to provide directional insights. It is hosted on Google Cloud and subject to its availability and performance limitations.

Outrage! Chapter Six

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Kurt Gray’s Outraged! attempts to boil morality down to a single principle: harm. This, in his view, is the bedrock of all moral considerations. In doing so, he takes a swing at Jonathan Haidt’s Moral Foundations Theory, trying to reduce its multi-faceted framework to a mere footnote in moral psychology. Amusingly, he even highlights how Haidt quietly modified his own theory after Gray and his colleagues published an earlier work—an intellectual game of cat-and-mouse, if ever there was one.

Audio: Podcast of this topic

Chapter 6: The Intuition Overdose

By the time we reach Chapter 6, Gray is charging full steam into reductio ad absurdum territory. He leans so hard on intuition that I lost count of how many times he invokes it. The problem? He gives it too much weight while conveniently ignoring acculturation.

Yes, intuition plays a role, but it doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Enter Kahneman’s dual-system model: Gray eagerly adopts the System 1 vs. System 2 distinction, forcing his test subjects into snap moral judgments under time pressure to bypass rationalisation. Fair enough. But what he neglects is how even complex tasks can migrate from System 2 (slow, deliberate) to System 1 (fast, automatic) through repeated exposure. Kahneman’s example? Basic arithmetic. A child grappling with 1 + 1 relies on System 2, but an adult answers without effort.

And morality? The same mechanism applies. What starts as deliberation morphs into automatic response through cultural conditioning. But instead of acknowledging this, Gray behaves as if moral intuition is some mystical, spontaneous phenomenon untethered from socialization.

Morality: Subjective, Yes—But Culturally Engineered

Let’s lay cards on the table. I’m a moral subjectivist—actually, a moral non-cognitivist, but for simplicity’s sake, let’s not frighten the children. My stance is that morality, at its core, is subjective. However, no one develops their moral compass in isolation. Culture, upbringing, and societal narratives shape our moral instincts, even if those instincts ultimately reduce to personal sentiment.

Gray does concede that the definition of “harm” is subjective, which allows him to argue that practically any belief or action can be framed as harmful. And sure, if you redefine “harm” broadly enough, you can claim that someone’s mere existence constitutes an existential threat. Religious believers, for example, claim to be “harmed” by the idea that someone else’s non-compliance with their theological fairy tale could lead to eternal damnation.

I don’t disagree with his observation. The problem is that the underlying belief is fundamentally pathological. This doesn’t necessarily refute Gray’s argument—after all, people do experience psychological distress over imaginary scenarios—but it does mean we’re dealing with a shaky foundation. If harm is entirely perception-based, then moral arguments become arbitrary power plays, subject to the whims of whoever is best at manufacturing grievance.

And this brings us to another crucial flaw in Gray’s framework: the way it enables ideological self-perpetuation. If morality is reduced to perceived harm, then groups with wildly different definitions of harm will inevitably weaponize their beliefs. Take the religious fundamentalist who believes gay marriage is a sin that dooms others to eternal suffering. From their perspective, fighting against LGBTQ+ rights isn’t just bigotry—it’s moral duty, a battle to save souls from metaphysical harm. This, of course, leads to moral contagion, where adherents tirelessly indoctrinate others, especially their own children, ensuring the pathology replicates itself like a virus.

The Problem with Mono-Causal Explanations

More broadly, Gray’s attempt to reduce morality to a single principle—harm—feels suspiciously tidy. Morality is messy, contradictory, and riddled with historical baggage. Any theory that purports to explain it all in one neat little package should immediately raise eyebrows.

So, sorry, Kurt. You can do better. Moral psychology is a tangled beast, and trying to hack through it with a single conceptual machete does more harm than good.

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

Posted in language, morality, nature, perception, philosophy, politics, power, psychology, reality, science, societyTagged , , , , 1 Comment

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.

The Fallibility of Nexus Chapter 4

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My reaction to Yuval Noah Harari’s Nexus continues with Chapter 4, “Errors: The Fantasy of Infallibility.” Spoiler alert: Harari makes a critical misstep by overly defending so-called self-correcting institutions compared to non-self-correcting ones.

Harari provides a solid account of how religious institutions and other dogmatic ideological constructs are slow to change, contrasting them with relatively faster self-correcting systems like science. Once again, he underscores the tension between order and truth—two critical dimensions in his worldview and cornerstones of Modernist beliefs.

Audio: Podcast conversation on this topic.

I agree with Harari that the lack of self-correction in institutions is problematic and that self-correction is better than the alternative. However, he overestimates the speed and efficacy of these self-correcting mechanisms. His argument presumes the existence of some accessible underlying truth, which, while an appealing notion, is not always so clear-cut. Harari cites examples of scientific corrections that took decades to emerge, giving the impression that, with enough time, everything will eventually self-correct. As the environment changes, corrections will naturally follow—albeit over long spans of time. Ultimately, Harari makes a case for human intervention without recognising it as an Achilles’ heel.

Harari’s Blind Spot

Harari largely overlooks the influence of money, power, and self-interest in these systems. His alignment with the World Economic Forum (WEF) suggests that, while he may acknowledge its fallibility, he still deems it “good enough” for governance. This reflects a paternalistic bias. Much like technologists who view technology as humanity’s salvation, Harari, as a Humanist, places faith in humans as the ultimate stewards of this task. However, his argument fails to adequately account for hubris, cognitive biases, and human deficits.

The Crux of the Problem

The core issue with Harari’s argument is that he appears to be chasing a local maxima by adopting a human-centric solution. His proposed solutions require not only human oversight but the oversight of an anointed few—presumably his preferred “elite” humans—even if other solutions might ultimately prove superior. He is caught in the illusion of control. While Harari’s position on transhuman capabilities is unclear, I suspect he would steadfastly defend human cognitive superiority to the bitter end.

In essence, Harari’s vision of self-correcting systems is optimistic yet flawed. By failing to fully acknowledge the limits of human fallibility and the structural influences of power and self-interest, he leaves his argument vulnerable to critique. Ultimately, his belief in the self-correcting nature of human institutions reflects more faith than rigour.

Death by Tiger, Death by Document: Reflections on Nexus Chapter 3

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As I continue to react to Harari’s Nexus, I can’t help but feel like a curmudgeon. Our worldviews diverge so starkly that my critique begins to feel like a petty grudge—as though I am inconsolable. Be that as it may, I’ll persist. Please excuse any revelatory ad hominems that may ensue.

Audio: Podcast of the page contents

Harari is an unabashed Zionist and unapologetic nationalist. Unfortunately, his stories, centred on Israel and India, don’t resonate with me. This is fine—I’m sure many people outside the US are equally weary of hearing everything framed from an American perspective. Still, these narratives do little for me.

Patriotism and property are clearly important to Harari. As a Modernist, he subscribes to all the trappings of Modernist thought that I rail against. He appears aligned with the World Economic Forum, portraying it as a noble and beneficial bureaucracy, while viewing AI as an existential threat to its control. Harari’s worldview suggests there are objectively good and bad systems, and someone must oversee them. Naturally, he presents himself as possessing the discernment to judge which systems are beneficial or detrimental.

In this chapter, Harari recounts the cholera outbreak in London, crediting it with fostering a positive bureaucracy to ensure clean water sources. However, he conflates the tireless efforts of a single physician with the broader bureaucratic structure. He uses this example, alongside Modi’s Clean India initiative, to champion bureaucracy, even as he shares a personal anecdote highlighting its flaws. His rhetorical strategy seems aimed at cherry-picking positive aspects of bureaucracy, establishing a strawman to diminish its negatives, and then linking these with artificial intelligence. As an institutionalist, Harari even goes so far as to defend the “deep state.”

Earlier, Harari explained how communication evolved from Human → Human to Human → Stories. Now, he introduces Human → Document systems, connecting these to authority, the growing power of administrators, and the necessity of archives. He argues that our old stories have not adapted to address the complexities of the modern world. Here, he sets up religion as another bogeyman. As a fellow atheist, I don’t entirely disagree with him, but it’s clear he’s using religion as a metaphor to draw parallels with AI and intractable doctrines.

Harari juxtaposes “death by tiger” with “death by document,” suggesting the latter—the impersonal demise caused by bureaucracy—is harder to grapple with. This predates Luigi Mangione’s infamous response to UnitedHealthcare’s CEO Brian Thompson, highlighting the devastating impact of administrative systems. Harari also briefly references obligate siblicide and sibling rivalry, which seem to segue into evolution and concepts of purity versus impurity.

Echoing Jonathan Haidt, Harari explores the dynamics of curiosity and disgust while reinforcing an “us versus them” narrative. He touches on the enduring challenges of India’s caste system, presenting yet another layer of complexity. Harari’s inclination towards elitism shines through, though he occasionally acknowledges the helplessness people face when confronting bureaucracy. He seems particularly perturbed by revolts in which the public destroys documents and debts—revealing what feels like a document fetish and an obsession with traceability.

While he lauds AI’s ability to locate documents and weave stories by connecting disparate content, Harari concludes the chapter with a segue into the next: a discussion of errors and holy books. Once again, he appears poised to draw parallels that serve to undermine AI. Despite my critiques, I’m ready to dive into the next chapter.

Stories, Power, and the Utility of Fiction

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Chapter 2 of Nexus

Chapter 2 of Yuval Noah Harari’s Nexus centres on the power of stories and their role in shaping human societies. For Harari, stories are not merely narratives but essential tools that have elevated human-to-human networks into human-to-story networks—a transition he frames as unadulterated Progress™, reflecting his dyed-in-the-wool Modernist perspective.

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The Power of Stories

Harari argues that fictional stories underpin the strength of social networks, enabling constructs like nations and economies to thrive. He celebrates these intersubjective frameworks as shared functional experiences that facilitate progress. While Harari’s thesis is compelling, his tone suggests an uncritical embrace of these constructs as inherently good. Branding and propaganda, for example, are presented as valid tools—but only when used by those on the “right side” of history, a position Harari implicitly claims for himself.

Order Above All Else

One of Harari’s key claims is that order trumps truth and justice. He justifies limiting both for the sake of maintaining stability, positioning this as his modus operandi. This prioritisation of order reveals a functionalist worldview where utility outweighs ethical considerations. Harari goes further to define “good” information as that which either discovers truth or creates order, a reductionistic view that leaves little room for dissent or alternative interpretations.

By extension, Harari endorses the concept of the “noble lie”—deception deemed acceptable if it serves these ends. While pragmatism may demand such compromises, Harari’s framing raises concerns about how this justification could be weaponised to silence opposition or reinforce entrenched power structures.

Alignment with Power

Harari’s alignment with institutional power becomes increasingly evident as the chapter progresses. His discussion of intersubjective constructs positions them as the bedrock of human achievement, but he appears unwilling to scrutinise the role of institutions like the World Economic Forum (WEF) in perpetuating inequalities. Harari’s lack of criticism for these entities mirrors historical justifications of despotic regimes by those aligned with their goals. He seems more concerned about AI’s potential to disrupt the plans of such institutions than about its impact on humanity as a whole.

Fiction as a Weapon

Harari concludes with an implicit hope that his narrative might gain consensus to undermine opposition to these power structures. His fondness for fiction—and his belief that “a story is greater than any truth”—positions storytelling as both a tool and a weapon. While this reflects the undeniable power of narratives, it also underscores Harari’s selective morality: stories are good when they align with his perspective and problematic when they don’t.

Final Thoughts

Chapter 2 of Nexus is a study in the utility of stories, but it also reveals Harari’s Modernist biases and alignment with institutional power. His prioritisation of order over truth and justice, coupled with his justification of noble lies, paints a picture of a pragmatist willing to compromise ethics for stability. Whether this perspective deepens or is challenged in later chapters remains to be seen, but for now, Harari’s narrative raises as many concerns as it seeks to address. I don’t mean to be overly cynical, but I can’t help but think that this book lays the groundwork for propagandising his playbook.