The Trust Myth: Harari’s Binary and the Collapse of Political Credibility

Yuval Noah Harari, always ready with a digestible morsel for the TED-addled masses, recently declared that “democracy runs on trust, dictatorship on terror.” It’s a line with the crispness of a fortune cookie and about as much analytical depth. Designed for applause, not interrogation, it’s the sort of soundbite that flatters liberal sensibilities while sanding off the inconvenient edges of history.

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Let’s be honest: this dichotomy is not merely simplistic – it’s a rhetorical sedative. It reassures those who still believe political systems are like kitchen appliances: plug-and-play models with clear instructions and honest warranties. But for anyone who’s paid attention to the actual mechanics of power, this framing is delusional.

1. Trust Was Never Earned

In the United States, trust in democratic institutions was never some noble compact forged through mutual respect and enlightened governance. It was cultivated through exclusion, propaganda, and economic bribery. The post-WWII boom offered the illusion of institutional legitimacy – but only if you were white, male, middle-class, and preferably asleep.

Black Americans, Indigenous peoples, immigrants, women – none were granted the luxury of naĆÆve trust. They were told to trust while being actively disenfranchised. To participate while being systemically excluded. So no, Harari, the machine didn’t run on trust. It ran on marketing. It ran on strategic ignorance.

2. Dictatorship Doesn’t Require Terror

Equally cartoonish is the notion that dictatorships subsist purely on terror. Many of them run quite comfortably on bureaucracy, passive conformity, and the grim seduction of order. Authoritarians know how to massage the same trust reflexes as democracies – only more bluntly. People don’t just obey out of fear. They obey out of habit. Out of resignation. Out of a grim kind of faith that someone – anyone – is in charge.

Dictatorships don’t extinguish trust. They re-route it. Away from institutions and toward strongmen. Toward myths of national greatness. Toward performative stability. It’s not that terror is absent—it’s just not the whole machine. The real engine is misplaced trust.

3. Collapse Is Bipartisan

The present moment isn’t about the erosion of a once-trustworthy system. It’s the slow-motion implosion of a confidence game on all sides. The old liberal institutions are collapsing under the weight of their hypocrisies. But the loudest critics – tech messiahs, culture warriors, authoritarian nostalgists – are no better. Their solutions are just new brands of snake oil in sleeker bottles.

Everyone is pointing fingers, and no one is credible. The public, caught between cynicism and desperation, gravitates either toward restoration fantasy (“make democracy work again”) or authoritarian theatre (“at least someone’s doing something”). Both are dead ends.

4. The Only Way Forward: Structural Reimagination

The only viable path isn’t restoration or regression. It’s reinvention. Systems that demand unconditional trust – like religions and stock markets – are bound to fail, because they rely on sustained illusions. Instead, we need systems built on earned, revocable, and continually tested trust – systems that can survive scrutiny, decentralise power, and adapt to complexity.

In other words: stop trying to repair a house built on sand. Build something else. Something messier, more modular, less mythological.

Let the TED crowd have their slogans. We’ve got work to do.

Last Word on Nexus

Yuval Noah Harari’s Nexus is a masterclass in well-constructed rhetoric. A gifted storyteller, Harari wields his prose with the finesse of a seasoned polemicist, but his penchant for reductionism undermines the very complexity he claims to dissect. As a historian, he undoubtedly grasps the intricate web of historical causality, yet he distils it into convenient dichotomies, cherry-picking points to prop up his preferred narrative. He doesn’t just oversimplify history—he commits the cardinal sin of overfitting the past to predict the future, as though the arc of history bends neatly to his will.

Harari offers binary possibilities, but his worldview is anything but ambivalent. He is a Modernist to his core, a devoted evangelist of Progressā„¢ with a capital P. His unwavering faith in the forward march of human civilisation betrays an almost theological zeal, as if history itself were a teleological engine hurtling toward an inevitable destiny.

More troubling, though, is his tendency to step beyond his lane, veering into the treacherous territory of the Dunning-Kruger effect. He confuses the illusion of control with actual control, mistaking correlation for causation and influence for omnipotence. The result? A grand narrative that seduces with its elegance but crumbles under scrutiny—an edifice of certainty built on the shaky foundations of conjecture.

In the end, Nexus is a fascinating read, not because it reveals an immutable truth about our future, but because it so brilliantly encapsulates the ambitions—and the blind spots—of its author.

Reflections on Chapter 6 of Harari’s Nexus

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

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 Conservativeā„¢ American or a Torrey in the UK, you’ll feel right at home.

A Trivial Freedom – At What Cost?

Harari ardently defends the ā€œtrivial freedomsā€ 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

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.

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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

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.

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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 ā€œdeep state.ā€

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 ā€œdeath by tigerā€ with ā€œdeath by document,ā€ 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 ā€œus versus themā€ 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

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 Progressā„¢, 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. 

What is Information?

I question whether reviewing a book chapter by chapter is the best approach. It feels more like a reaction video because I am trying to suss out as I go. Also, I question the integrity and allegiance of the author, a point I often make clear. Perhaps ‘integrity’ is too harsh as he may have integrity relative to his worldview. It just happens to differ from mine.

Chapter 1 of Yuval Noah Harari’s Nexus, ironically titled “What is Information?” closes not with clarity but with ambiguity. Harari, ever the rhetorician, acknowledges the difficulty of achieving consensus on what ā€˜information’ truly means. Instead of attempting a rigorous definition, he opts for the commonsense idiomatic approach—a conveniently disingenuous choice, given that information is supposedly the book’s foundational theme. To say this omission is bothersome would be an understatement; it is a glaring oversight in a chapter dedicated to unpacking this very concept.

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Sidestepping Rigour

Harari’s rationale for leaving ā€˜information’ undefined appears to rest on its contested nature, yet this does not excuse the absence of his own interpretation. While consensus may indeed be elusive, a book with such grand ambitions demands at least a working definition. Without it, readers are left adrift, navigating a central theme that Harari refuses to anchor. This omission feels particularly egregious when juxtaposed against his argument that information fundamentally underlies everything. How can one build a convincing thesis on such an unstable foundation?

The Map and the Terrain

In typical Harari fashion, the chapter isn’t devoid of compelling ideas. He revisits the map-and-terrain analogy, borrowing from Borges to argue that no map can perfectly represent reality. While this metaphor is apt for exploring the limitations of knowledge, it falters when Harari insists on the existence of an underlying, universal truth. His examples—Israeli versus Palestinian perspectives, Orthodox versus secular vantage points—highlight the relativity of interpretation. Yet he clings to the Modernist belief that events have an objective reality: they occur at specific times, dates, and places, regardless of perspective. This insistence feels like an ontological claim awkwardly shoehorned into an epistemological discussion.

Leveraging Ambiguity

One can’t help but suspect that Harari’s refusal to define ā€˜information’ serves a rhetorical purpose. By leaving the concept malleable, he gains the flexibility to adapt its meaning to suit his arguments throughout the book. This ambiguity may prove advantageous in bolstering a wide-ranging thesis, but it also risks undermining the book’s intellectual integrity. Readers may find themselves wondering whether Harari is exploring complexity or exploiting it.

Final Thoughts on Chapter 1

The chapter raises more questions than it answers, not least of which is whether Harari intends to address these foundational gaps in later chapters. If the preface hinted at reductionism, Chapter 1 confirms it, with Harari’s Modernist leanings and rhetorical manoeuvres taking centre stage. “What is Information?” may be a provocative title, but its contents suggest that the question is one Harari is not prepared to answer—at least, not yet.