The Technological Republic: Hard Power, Soft Belief, and the Future of the West

by Alexander C. Karp, Nicholas W. Zamiska

INSTANT #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • “A cri de coeur that takes aim at the tech industry for abandoning its history of helping America and its allies.”—The Wall Street Journal

From the Palantir co-founder, one of tech’s boldest thinkers and The Economist’s “best CEO of 2024,” and his deputy, a sweeping indictment of the West’s culture of complacency, arguing that timid leadership, intellectual fragility, and an unambitious view of technology’s potential in Silicon Valley have made the U.S. vulnerable in an era of mounting global threats.

“Not since Allan Bloom’s astonishingly successful 1987 book The Closing of the American Mind—more than one million copies sold—has there been a cultural critique as sweeping as Karp’s.”—George F. Will, The Washington Post

Silicon Valley has lost its way.

Our most brilliant engineering minds once collaborated with government to advance world-changing technologies. Their efforts secured the West’s dominant place in the geopolitical order. But that relationship has now eroded, with perilous repercussions.

Today, the market rewards shallow engagement with the potential of technology. Engineers and founders build photo-sharing apps and marketing algorithms, unwittingly becoming vessels for the ambitions of others. This complacency has spread into academia, politics, and the boardroom. The result? An entire generation for whom the narrow-minded pursuit of the demands of a late capitalist economy has become their calling.

In this groundbreaking treatise, Palantir co-founder and CEO Alexander C. Karp and Nicholas W. Zamiska offer a searing critique of our collective abandonment of ambition, arguing that in order for the U.S. and its allies to retain their global edge—and preserve the freedoms we take for granted—the software industry must renew its commitment to addressing our most urgent challenges, including the new arms race of artificial intelligence. The government, in turn, must embrace the most effective features of the engineering mindset that has propelled Silicon Valley’s success.

Above all, our leaders must reject intellectual fragility and preserve space for ideological confrontation. A willingness to risk the disapproval of the crowd, Karp and Zamiska contend, has everything to do with technological and economic outperformance.

At once iconoclastic and rigorous, this book will also lift the veil on Palantir and its broader political project from the inside, offering a passionate call for the West to wake up to our new reality.

Genres: Politics, Business, Technology, Nonfiction, Philosophy, Economics, Artificial Intelligence

301 pages, Kindle Edition

Published February 18, 2025

Reviews

[Ben]

The Technological Republic is a bold, polemical call to arms that aims to redefine America’s future through an engineering mindset and a revitalized tech-government alliance. Yet, as an engineer with some background in statistics and machine learning, I found its sweeping claims deeply problematic. Karp proclaims that founder-led companies outstrip the market by over 10% (therefore no lasting value is created by committee!) without accounting for survivorship bias or risk-adjusted returns, what lasting means etc—an assertion that feels more like a rhetorical flourish than rigorous analysis. His data is cherry-picked to suit his narrative, and his use of analogies, such as the bee’s waggle dance (which in nature champions pluralism and integration of various experiences rather than monolithic conformity), ultimately undercuts his argument.

Karp’s vision of a renewed “American project” is equally frustrating. He invokes extreme historical references—ranging from Nazi-era science recruitment to the hyperbolic notion of a “1000-Year Republic”—in a manner that is more designed to shock than to inform. While he rightly asks, “How do long-term, hard projects get funded?”, “what do tech companies owe to the security provided by the state?”, and challenges us to consider coordination beyond Dunbar’s number, his insistence on a centralized, top-down approach dismisses the inherently pluralistic and dynamic nature of American innovation and resilience. In doing so, he reduces a complex, multifaceted national legacy to an oversimplified blueprint that stifles dissent and ignores the messy reality of modern governance.

In the end, The Technological Republic is a manifesto of frustration rather than a robust, evidence-based strategy for the future. Perhaps this should be expected from the authors conflicts of interests. It echoes familiar themes from works like AI Superpowers, The Precipice, and The New Digital Age, yet it fails to offer the nuanced analysis those books deliver. Its passionate rhetoric and provocative analogies may stir the imagination, but they ultimately ring hollow when measured against the demands of hard data and historical complexity. If you’re looking for a sober discussion of technology’s role in national security and innovation, this book’s incendiary narrative might leave you wanting more substance—and far less polemic.

[jasmine sun]

Not good, even by the standards of ghostwritten CEO books.

Alex Karp wants engineers to stop messing around with viral consumer apps and instead embrace the glorious duty of arming the US federal government, and consequently, "the West" as a whole. This is the grand quest that his company, Palantir, has taken on, even while his fellow California liberals laugh and turn up their nose.

Unfortunately, Karp doesn't make a very good case. He didn't write a deep dive into the story and strategies of how Palantir became a $100 billion company, or a full-throated philosophical defense of the "West" and why it's worth preserving. I've heard multiple ex-Palantir employees share thoughtful reflections on enabling government programs they didn't agree with. But we don't hear about those internal debates, or sit with Karp as he resolves a moral dilemma.

Instead, this book is a collection of shallow, rambling essays about the history of defense tech, the campus canon wars, and the virtue of flat organizational hierarchies — each anecdote barely elaborated before jumping to the next. Karp consistently casts non-patriots as pathetic and cowardly nonbelievers (he thinks liberal elites have embraced a "thin and meager secular ideology"), yet his own value system is barely explained (what is "the good", anyway?).

The Technological Republic won't convert any skeptics, and the patriots never needed persuading. I think Karp should get a better ghostwriter.

[Sebastian Gebski]

I couldn't wait to read Karp's book. Will it be about Palantir? About how it was built? About what's ahead? Or ...

The answer is - it's a book about everything and nothing. But, for sure, NOT about Palantir (at least explicitly). It's a "call to action" quasi-MAGA (but soft, so no strong politic standpoints - don't worry) manifest, aimed mostly to underline that the closer cooperation between US state and its strong technology sector may be a game changer in maintaining American global power in future.

There's a lot about wasted (so far) intellectual potential (when technologists were mostly building social-crap apps), the importance of hard power as a deterrence force, the incredible potential of technology making a difference, and the total failure of liberal (/leftists) thinking in a spirit of "an end of history".

Obviously, the book is very American-centric - Karp doesn't even pretend he's interested in the good of humanity; he represents American interests. It's not really nationalistic, more like patriotic (but of course, it all depends on how you interpret it and what steps you take next).

Frankly, I don't feel I was the main recipient here. It's mostly a message to the American taxpayers and government officials - where they should redirect the funds and investments to secure the future and safety of the next (American) generation. In fact, as a US citizen, I would probably nod in approval, but as a European, I can be only disturbed a bit by the US switching from a soft-power stance based (at least officially) on moral values and common interest ("infinite game") to a hard-power based on enforcing their interest first by leveraging the economic advantage as much as possible.

So, yes. It's somewhere in between market-building and a patriotic call for the policy shift. Which doesn't make it a very interesting book, tbh. But at least it's clear that the New World and Old World have to treat each other with much more reserve these days.

[Max]

In The Technological Republic, Alexander Karp explores the profound ways technology is reshaping governance and power structures, blending political and military theory with insights from the information technology sector. However, while Karp's analysis offers a sophisticated look at the intersection of technology and statecraft, his underlying assumptions about the role of private companies in this new order raise serious questions.

Karp positions technology, especially data analytics and artificial intelligence, as transformative tools that can enhance the efficiency and responsiveness of governments. He argues that advanced technologies allow for more precise decision-making, offering states the ability to predict crises, manage public resources, and even conduct military operations with greater accuracy. In doing so, Karp frames technology as inherently neutral—a tool that, if wielded correctly, can bring about more effective governance.

Yet, there is a striking omission in Karp's narrative: the interests of the private companies that develop and control much of this technology. Palantir, Karp's own company, epitomizes the growing influence of tech firms on public policy and security. The problem lies in the unchecked power these corporations now wield. Karp downplays the fact that companies like Palantir profit from their increasingly symbiotic relationship with governments, raising concerns about transparency and accountability. When the same entities that build and sell data-driven tools to the government are also driven by profit motives, can their intentions be purely aligned with the public good?

Karp’s optimistic vision of a “technological republic” sidesteps the potential for these companies to use their privileged position to shape policy or pursue agendas that serve their own interests, not those of the citizens. In an age where surveillance technology, data collection, and AI are being deployed with little regulatory oversight, this corporate influence could distort democratic processes and compromise civil liberties. Karp’s analysis fails to critically assess the implications of handing over key aspects of governance—especially in areas as sensitive as national security—to entities that operate largely outside the democratic sphere.

Furthermore, Karp’s discussion of the military applications of technology reveals a deeper flaw in his reasoning. While he acknowledges the increased precision offered by data-driven warfare and autonomous systems, his focus remains on the benefits to state power, rather than the ethical dilemmas and risks these technologies present. In a world where corporations are supplying both the tools and the data for governments to wage war, the lines between public accountability and private interests become dangerously blurred.

Ultimately, The Technological Republic is an insightful but incomplete exploration of how technology is transforming governance. Karp’s reluctance to interrogate the role of private companies like his own in shaping the future of political power is a significant blind spot. Without a more critical lens on the intentions of these companies, the future he envisions risks becoming less a republic, and more a technocratic oligarchy.

[Jason Furman]

This is perhaps the most cultural argument I have read about what has gone wrong with big tech and how to fix it. Alexander Karp and Nicholas Zamiska basically want more of Silicon Valley to be like them—patriotic Americans, proud of being part of a shared culture, enthusiastic about supporting our troops and police, and functioning in an organization where people are paid well, have substantial autonomy, is not clogged with middle management, is good at error-correcting its own problems, and is still run by its founder.

They have two distinct concerns that they blur together as if they are interrelated or the same: (1) innovation needs to be bigger and less incremental and (2) innovators need to do less for consumers and more for national power (they are particularly negative on the engineers at Microsoft, Google, IBM, and elsewhere who have risen up against working on projects related to facial recognition, drone targeting, and other national security issues).

The first seems to be a peculiar concern at a time when enormous sums are being poured into foundational AI models. The second does seem like a problem but perhaps one that is getting better, but I’m not sure.

Karp and Zamiska believe “the software industry should rebuild its relationship with government and redirect its effort and attention to constructing the technology and artificial intelligence capabilities that will address the most pressing challenges that we collectively face.”

I kept waiting for policy solutions—after all, they explicitly want companies working with the government—but they do not offer any; instead, their solution is cultural, basically more people should read their book and start thinking differently: “constructing a technological republic, a rich and thriving and raucously creative communal experiment—not merely the bacchanal of permissive egalitarianism of which Strauss warned—will require an embrace of value, virtue, and culture, the very things that the present generation was taught
to abhor.”

I find myself in sympathy with many of their cultural arguments. The United States cannot survive on the basis of self-loathing and moral relativism but instead needs to be proud of building a shared culture and myths (one I would argue should draw on the many cultures and people that have contributed to the United States). The academy went too far in embracing the worldview of books like Orientalism. There is too much safetyism. It is harder to have hard-driving people who break rules and norms to get things done today than in the past, etc. I would never have linked these to what ails Silicon Valley, but they made me consider the possibility more seriously.

Where I get off the train is their disdain for a classical liberal conception of capitalism. They ask, “Why must we always defer to the wisdom of the crowd when it comes to allocating scarce capital in a market economy?” while disdaining all the money and effort that goes into consumer innovations like delivery apps. I do not know a better system for allocating capital than the market. And many of those innovations—yes, including delivery apps—are developed because the wisdom of the crowd of consumers that wants to use them and benefits from them. I’m not a market fundamentalist. There are issues with rent-seeking or attention addition, but they do not make the arguments for why someone’s judgment (whose?) should come ahead of consumers in deciding what is valuable.

Moreover, if you want more technology for national security, part of the solution is getting the engineers at the big firms willing to work on it again. But a lot of the solution is government policy, something they never spell out. The same goes for the other national challenges they wish got comparatively more attention than consumers want, including “from national defense to violent crime, education reform to medical.”
research appeared to many to be too intractable, too thorny, and too politically fraught to address in any real way. Cultural shifts would help with some of that, but there is no substitute for more and smarter government procurement and use of these technologies.

Ultimately, Karp and Zamiska made me think because it linked one set of issues I think about in my spare time (culture, relativism, etc.) with another that I normally use different tools to think about (how to get tech companies to work on different issues and what are the limits of consumer-centric innovation). But I wish it went back and forth between the two languages to build more of a bridge instead of just grounding itself almost entirely in political philosophy and intellectual history at the expense of economics, politics, and public policy.

P.S. I did find it interesting and refreshing that they were anti-libertarian, wanted government employees to be paid much more and wanted to limit the role of wealth in politics--all very different than Elon Musk, Peter Thiel, and some others in that world that you might have thought their views were aligned with.

[Galina]

Lopsided and cherry-picked information is what this book is based on. The argument that “ethical societies”, “conscious of the power use” should have the most powerful weapons, is so weak. Today, a country is an “ethical society”, tomorrow it is an oligarchy with lack of support for people’s welfare, or an authoritarian regime.
Not all the engineers are working on social media and group chat apps, a lot of us are working on supporting information systems, maintaining cyber security, etc.
Also, I’m sure that working government contracts can be pretty lucrative and could be a good strategy for a company as a participant in a capitalistic economy. But if you have to maximize the profits for your shareholders (cause this is the end goal for a company in a capitalistic economy, right?), aren’t you 1. Putting all the eggs in one basket? 2. Possibly stalling the innovation in your industry working on military contracts and not expanding into other areas that could diversify the inventions? This book looks more like a political propaganda than a researched and well-thought work.

[Scholar's Stage (Tanner Greer)]

ALEXANDER KARP AND NICHOLAS ZAMISKA’S The Technological Republic: Hard Power, Soft Belief, and the Future of the West may not be the worst book I have read this year, but it is by far the most disappointing. Karp is the rare CEO more famous for his intellect than his entrepreneurship. The overlap between the students of Jürgen Habermas and captains of industry is small. Among the technology brethren, Karp is regularly portrayed as a latter-day philosopher king. Karp leans into this image.1 I do not begrudge him this—founders must sell both themselves and their companies, and a company like Palantir is easier to sell when its founder is wreathed in mystique.

There are some downsides to mystique. If people believe you are some philosophic savant, they expect you to write a book with real intellectual heft. An important book. The sort that teaches men how to merge principle with practice. The sort of book that might be remembered.

There is an obvious need for such a book. Silicon Valley’s “California ideology” is dead but no new ideology has risen up to take its place. The ideas, efforts, and dollars of the “tech right” helped Donald Trump land his second presidency, but relations between the technologists and the rest of the Republican coalition are tense. The future of this coalition is undecided. Down in the Gundo there are 300 young men building America’s future—they are hungry for ideas that might guide their efforts and inspire more young Americans to join their cause. If there was ever a time ripe for a book titled The Technological Republic, that time is now.

On its face, The Technological Republic promises to meet these grand expectations. Karp and Zamiska (one of Karp’s employees) promise a “substantial and ambitious” foray into “the interstitial but we hope rich space between political, business, and academic treatises.”

They do not achieve this aim. The Technological Republic is neither substantive nor ambitious. In form and tone it resembles a business class airport book—but this comparison is insulting to the airport paperbacks. Most of those books have the skeleton of a good essay hidden beneath their bloat. Strip away a few hundred unnecessary pages and you generally find a thesis worth contemplating. In contrast, The Technological Republic has no discernible thesis. Its chapters are discrete. They read like a series of TED talks sloppily sewn together by the ChatGPT of 2023. At no point do the ideas inside the covers of The Technological Republic rise above the intellectual level of the average TikTok reel. I would be embarrassed to have this book published under my name. I find it somewhat spectacular that a man with Karp’s reputation proudly published it under his.

The best thing I can say for this book is that it gave me a reason to lay out some of my thoughts on the relationship between the American nation and the American technologist. I have done this in a review essay published in the latest edition of American Affairs, which you can find with a quick google search. My essay is focused on an idea that clearly preoccupies Karp—it is not the thesis of his book so much as a theme that resurfaces at random points throughout the Technological Republic. Let’s call it “the problem of the unmoored engineer.” I describe this problem in the essay as follows:

Karp and Zamiska insist that the fortunes and fame of [Silicon Valley’s “engineering elite”] were not created ex nihilo. This class is, in fact, deeply indebted to the civilization that made their firms possible, one that most of them feel no kinship with or obligation to. At the center of that civilization is the United States. The American nation should demand the loyalty of those who prosper most from it. This loyalty should be freely given. Karp and Zamiska believe that tech leaders should focus their substantial talents on bettering this nation. Like Palantir, their firms should not shy away from the provision of public goods. Silicon Valley should boldly take part in the “articulation of the national project.”5 Alas, the instinct of the Silicon Valley founder is to move as the market lists. How does the market list? Toward “lifestyle technologies” whose main purpose is to “enable the highly educated . . . to feel as if they have more income than they do.” America’s engineering elite is brilliant, but their brilliance is wasted on baubles.

I have little to criticize in this description of Silicon Valley and its mores. But Karp and Zamiska’s critique sticks to the shallows. They gripe a great deal about the “engineering elite” from which they spring, and gesture constantly to ye good olde days when American industrialists and engineers felt a sense of patriotic duty to their country. They never explain, however, what religious, social, political, or economic forces gave those engineers their convictions—much less contemplate what it would take to replicate those forces today. They are satisfied with bland sermonizing.

I am not.

Karp and Zamiska want America’s technological elite to become a governing elite. America has had such an elite before. American politics and American industry were once captained by a network of committed techno-nationalists. Later generations of Americans would call the children and grandchildren of this class the “Eastern Establishment.” These were the men that made the Second Industrial Revolution. They not only invented and commercialized the technologies that propelled humanity into the industrial age, but built the legal, financial, and corporate infrastructure that made these new technologies possible. The high tide of this establishment was the years between 1870 and 1930. Over those decades, America was governed by a techno-nationalist elite.

Most of my American Affairs essay explores the history of these men: where they came from, how they rose to wealth and power, what ideology they subscribed to, the political coalition they built, and the means by which they passed their project on to their children. This section of the essay is long (it is about 16 pages and 60 footnotes worth of material), so I will not summarize it here.

For the moment I will note only the following: the Eastern Establishment began as a tight knit community of industrialists and politicians who originally were drawn together by the U.S. Civil War. Their program, both during and after the war, was to unify a wide-flung and divided people under one national identity and integrate their communities into a single, continent-spanning, industrialized market. The systems they built in pursuit of this aim rewarded them with untold wealth and national power. These systems were also expressions of deeply held values. Their program was only possible because they were able to convince a coalition of Americans that these values were the right ones. This feat, combined with a great deal of clever log rolling in Congress and the technical achievements of their firms, propelled the Eastern Establishment to their elect station in American life.

Most historians and commentators who look back at this era tend to emphasize different aspects of the process I describe. Some focus on what made this old WASPy elite culturally distinct, others on what made the industrialists so fantastically rich, and yet others how the Republican Party dominated federal politics in this era. Part of the thesis of my essay is that all three of these things were connected. The story of one cannot be told in isolation from the others.

This is not unique to the Eastern Establishment. It reflects a more generalizable truth behind any stable group of governing elites. To quote from my essay:

Any governing class requires three things: a political coalition to which it owes allegiance and over which it exercises influence; an economic base that provides this class with wealth and unites its members around shared material interests; and finally, a set of institutions, rituals, and social customs that give this class a culture distinct from the country at large. Absent the first two, a leadership class lacks the power to lead; absent the latter two, it lacks the ability to act as a class.

Do Karp and Zamiska’s “engineering elite” have these three things? If not, how could they get them? Karp and Zamiska do not seriously entertain the question. To return to my essay:

It is not enough, therefore, to advocate for “a closer alignment of vision” between Silicon Valley and the state without asking what economic, political, and cultural arrangements could make such an alignment possible. The Technological Republic suggests that the federal government could profit from Silicon Valley’s organizational ingenuity, but it does not suggest how elected officials or federal bureaucrats might gain that expertise firsthand. It argues that technologists must identify with the American nation-state, but it never explains how this culturally progressive, immigrant-heavy industry might actually do so.

Part of Karp and Zamiska’s problem lies in how they conceive of this task. The Technological Republic speaks of the fusion of a “sector” and a “state,” but sectors and states are abstractions; what must be fused are people. This was also true for America’s first techno-nationalist elite. Behind the Eastern Establishment stood a dense web of personal ties that bound its families together. Many of these ties were consummated, quite literally, on the marriage bed. Karp and Zamiska are loathe to think in these terms. They write a great deal about the engineering elite’s waning commitment to Western civilization, but they have little to say about its waning commitment to raising the next generation of that civilization. The Eastern Establishment was self-consciously reproductive: it built schools, endowed universities, and founded literal dynasties. Part of building “a shared culture . . . that will make possible our continued survival” is creating the children who will survive us.

Karp is well-known for his bachelor lifestyle. He has no children. I suspect this is one reason he is slow to speak of his project in inter-generational terms. Unfortunately, I do not see how this project can succeed on any shorter timescale.

By far the most annoying thing about this book is Karp and Zamiska’s refusal to take a positive stand on any meaningful issue whatsoever. Karp and Zamiska tell us that the problem with Silicon Valley is that it shies away from “the vital yet messy questions of what constitutes a good life, which collective endeavors society should pursue, and what a shared and national identity can make possible.” Yet there is no passage in the Technological Republic that attempts to “define the good life” or “describe what a shared national identity can make possible.” Our authors insist that “the reconstitution of a technological republic will require a reassertion of national culture and values” but never tell us what those values are. They lament that Silicon Valley has been swallowed by “narrow and thin utilitarianism,” but never articulate a richer moral vision to replace it.6

At best this reticence is hypocritical; at worst, it is cowardly. When reading this book, I often wished I could shake Karp by his jacket and yell, “Tell me something you actually believe!” He never does. Thus the conclusion of my essay:

Karp and Zamiska devote entire chapters to urging the American public to tolerate corporate leaders who are strange, discomforting, or corrupt. They argue that too many of these leaders “are reluctant to venture into the discussion, to articulate genuine belief . . . for fear that they will be punished in the contemporary public sphere.” There is nothing objectionable in that argument, but it is painfully procedural. When Karp and Zamiska lament that that too many “founders say [they] actively seek out risk, but when it comes to public relations and deeper investments in more significant societal challenges, caution often prevails,” they could be describing themselves. They demand a pulpit for America’s technologists but never summon the courage to state what gospel they should preach.

Large passages of The Technological Republic thus read as a throat clearing exercise in place of substantive content that never arrives. Karp and Zamiska correctly observe that “an overly timid engagement with the debates of our time will rob one of the ferocity of feeling that is necessary to move the world.” But the book itself refuses to engage in any of the “debates of our time.”

…What is his vision for America’s place in the world? What principles should govern the relationship between artificial intelligence and the American polity? Does transhumanism violate or embody the “shared purpose and identity” Karp and Zamiska believe we must forge? If what we need is a “larger project for which to fight,” then what precisely should that project be?

America’s first techno-nationalist elite did have such a project. Many of them died fighting for it. The industrial civilization they built would have been impossible without their ironclad commitment to America’s national greatness. Judged by that standard, Karp and Zamiska’s arguments are intolerably thin. “Those who say nothing wrong,” Karp and Zamiska warn, “often say nothing much at all.” The Technological Republic says nothing wrong and nothing much at all.

[Bailey Joseph]

2.5/5 - Agreeable core thesis, but connected with a cobweb of supporting arguments that read more like a college thesis paper than a compelling narrative.

[Bakunin]

Extremely disappointed. The few facts which I knew anything about seemed to be completely erroneous. Silicon Valley was not the product of government and business working together (just read Sebastian Mallabys "the power law" if you aren't convinced). The book is strung together by mostly anecdotal information and tries to outline the authors best case for a greater cooperation between the state and the business community.

[CatReader]

Alexander Karp is an American billionaire and the CEO and a co-founder (along with Peter Thiel and several others) of software firm Palantir Technologies; his co-author Nicholas Zamiska is the head of corporate affairs and a legal counsel at Palantir. Their 2025 book The Technological Republic is essentially a pro-Western political manifesto explaining Karp's rationale for Palantir doing business with the US government and military, and an indictment of many other Silicon Valley tech companies (and the larger US culture) who won't take a firm stand and have amorphous, wishy-washy attitudes and actions, which Karp believes will lead to their downfall. Sample excerpts:

"We think we want to know our leaders, but what about results? The likeability of our elected leaders is essentially a modern preoccupation, and it has become a national obsession, but at what cost?"

"The problem is that tolerance of everything essentially constitutes belief in nothing." and later, "An aspirational desire for tolerance of everything has descended into support of nothing. The contemporary left establishment inhabits a prison of its own making."

"What began as a noble search for a more inclusive conception of national identity and belonging, and a bid to render the concept of the West to any entrants interested in advancing its ideals, over time expanded into a more far-reaching rejection of collective identity itself. And that rejection of any broader political project, or sense of the community to which one must belong in order to accomplish anything substantial, is what now risks leaving us rudderless and without direction."

"This is a grievance industry, and it is at risk of depriving a generation of the fierceness and sense of proportion that are essential to becoming a full participant in this world. A certain psychological resilience, and indeed, indifference, to the opinion of others, are required if one is to have any hope of building anything substantial and differentiated."

I can understand why this book is getting such polarizing reviews -- it will strongly resonate with some and strongly turn others off. At the same time, I think it's essential that we all expose ourselves to views both accordant and discordant with our own to be able to think critically -- reading only books or consuming only media that aligns with one's own sociopolitical views is essentially an echo chamber.

Further reading:
The Age of Grievance by Frank Bruni | my review
The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided by Politics and Religion by Jonathan Haidt | my review
The Coddling of the American Mind: How Good Intentions and Bad Ideas Are Setting up a Generation for Failure by Jonathan Haidt and Greg Lukianoff
Work Pray Code: When Work Becomes Religion in Silicon Valley by Carolyn Chen | my review

My statistics:
Book 68 for 2025
Book 1994 cumulatively

[Ali]

Tech Republic reads like Karp's Art of War or the Prince where he decries Silicon Valley's focus on consumer apps and ads in social media calling it out as the Lost Valley, and also hollowing of the American Mind therefore asking conscription to draft all to fight the real American War(s). Karp marks the AI revolution as the start of a new era ending the nuclear age and calling for new Manhattan Project(s). He almost compares himself to Oppenheimer and mentions Einstein's letter to FDR as examples of great minds serving the greater good. Karp and (his coauthor) Zamiska market Palantir as serving the same higher purpose as part of Pentagon's Project Maven (Palantir is advertised multiple times throughout the book for doing the right thing). Then they praise the engineering mindset taking on the big problems with an agile approach of building faster bigger thru failing often/forward, and asking for the government to follow this mindset. Example of Eck Swarms for startup scaling or Popper's clock/cloud comparison for management styles are discussed in detail. The Cold War era of calling for unification of engineering/technology with the national defense and military should be no surprise; same as drafting the youth for fighting the new American Wars as they lost belief in the common good or the shared culture, so should be reshaped. In the last part Karp continues his sermon on the mount for building the tech republic. He pulls from Carl Schmitt and others to argue liberal democracies suffer from governance void, hence the call for Technological Republic. His manifesto is like Kissinger's Realpolitik probably paving the road for authoritarianism.

[taylor]

I would encourage every adult who works in software development read this book. 5 stars, even though I did not agree with many points and the writing style was questionable, I still found this engaging and made me think about my position on several topics. That's what a good book is all about.
Themes
- A strong military encourages peace.
-- hmm after WWII there was hope that there would be no more global conflicts. Ask the loved ones of those fallen in Korea, Vietnam, 9/11, Afghanistan, Ukraine ... It seems as though you continually must demonstrate your power to maintain "your way of life"
- Top talent is moving into consumer products, not efforts that help the government.
-- True, but if you don't like people going to where the $ is, then you don't like capitalism.
- Acceptance of all points of view means you believe in nothing.
-- Like others have stated, this is such a generalization. I accept other points of view because I open to learning. Perhaps the worst trait someone can have is not give the floor to others, to hear their point of view.
- We should judge others by results not by their methodology. The example was Admiral Rickover violated law, but was the architect of the modern nuclear Navy. We should look the other way on his digressions.
-- Who decides what is valuable? The law is pretty clear. Allowing some to break the law has historically not scaled well and results in an unstable government.

There were other minor points, basically variations on a theme of the above. The sentences were extremely long and contained so much punctuation it was difficult sometimes to understand what point of view the authors were trying to make. The sentence is the new paragraph.
The authors make extreme use of quotes from other sources. But just because you reference someone else, does not make it true. Truth is not a popularity contest. almost 1/4 of the book was references, which included the 3 articles written by authors in which this book was based.

The author's company uses AI to enhance military software. They conveniently forget that this "AI" emerged from Silicon Valley, the very same people they criticize.

Probably my favorite book of the year, because it made me reflect on my positions on several important topics.

I agree that a lot of human capitol has been wasted on photo sharing apps and the like, but we need to think about how we motivate people to do something more meaningful. No answers, only interesting questions.

[Charles Haywood]

This was not the book that I thought it would be. It is not an apologetic for Palantir Technologies, except incidentally. Nor is it primarily a cry to extend the American empire. Rather, it is a call for America to recover a common identity and purpose, to reverse the fragmentation that has overcome us in recent decades, and thereby to achieve fresh greatness, if not a particularly well-defined form of greatness. What makes The Technological Republic fascinating, however, is that the author, Alexander Karp, CEO of Palantir, claims to be a man of the Left, yet this is inescapably a book of the Right. The result is a twilight feel.

Perhaps this blurring of old political boundaries is not so strange. We tend to overlook that throughout the past two centuries, and especially in the past hundred years, elite politics in the West has been a protean thing. At any given moment, political positions seem immutable and permanent. This condition often remains for some years, but soon enough, the sands shift, and the powerful adopt new positions and new allies which would have seemed bizarre only moments before. In recent years, the best example of this, and perhaps harbinger, is Elon Musk, even if he has not yet completed his inevitable political journey. But he will not be the only one.

True, this phenomenon has in the recent past almost always meant movement further Left, but that is historical accident, not inevitability. And also true, the Left itself never changes its core beliefs, but merely its external manifestations and practices aimed at achieving its utopian goals. Yet, as I often point out, true believers in Left ideology are only a small percentage of our society, and for certain our future includes widespread abandonment of past opportunistic embrace of the Left. Arguably this process has begun in the 2020s, a decade of flux. Therefore, Karp’s thought here gives us valuable insights into the important fault lines of the years ahead, most of all into tendencies among our elites.

Karp is, no doubt, an elite (as is his co-author, Nicholas Zamiska, a high lieutenant of Karp’s). In 2003, he founded Palantir (along with Peter Thiel and some other men), and for more than twenty years has been its CEO. Palantir’s main forte is using algorithms, and more recently, AI, to sift enormous amounts of data to offer analysis on the basis of which humans can take action. (As most people no doubt know, in J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings cycle, a palantir is a scrying stone, permitting remote seeing, with considerable risk, by a user sufficiently mentally powerful.) These capabilities obviously have military applications, and that is Palantir’s main claim to fame, but they also have law enforcement and other government applications, as well as value to private business. The company has done extremely well, and now Karp is one of the richest men in the world. Palantir, along with other companies that deal in what might be called surveillance technology, such as Flock, is frequently criticized by segments of both the Left and Right as furthering an oppressive technological panopticon. My own opinion is that as with all technology, potential misuse is unavoidable, and the question is not whether the technology will exist, but who will be master. That, however, is a topic for another day.

If I were a guessing man, though Karp is opaque on his motivations, I would say that Karp’s turn against the Left, on display throughout this book, perhaps inchoate or not even self-recognized, is due to his realization that in the West today the Left is no different than it ever has been in its ideology, but the nature of its destructive program has become more and more manifest. And Karp, like me, seeks American greatness, not our destruction. In very short, this book is a bemoaning of the many failures of modern America, of the box canyon we have been led into by our elites, combined with a program for rebooting the nation through a combination of virtue and technology.

He begins by attacking his home base, Silicon Valley, ruled by what I refer to as the Lords of Tech. Until quite recently, all of Silicon Valley was either directly or indirectly a project of the American government, starting in the 1940s. This was a two-way street; and in fact many American leaders, in the 1940s and 1950s and going back to the Founding, have been “remarkably fluent in matters of engineering and technology.” As a result, Silicon Valley’s leaders recognized a “moral debt” to America. This partnership created the American Century, allowing us to win World War II, defeat the Soviet Union, and become the global hegemon.

But most of Silicon Valley, at every level, has today “lost its way,” meaning that the men and women who own and work at technology companies no longer view themselves as owing any moral duty to the nation, much less as servants of the nation. They instead see themselves as our rulers. However, they fail to provide, and fail even to recognize that they should provide, to the ruled what a ruler must, and this has consequences. “[A] failure by leaders to deliver on implied or explicit promises to the public has the potential to provoke a crisis of legitimacy for the government. When emerging technologies that give rise to wealth do not advance the broader public interest, trouble often follows.” Instead, the Lords of Tech are “decadent,” presumably here meaning focused on personal pleasure and failing to truly innovate and be creative.

The chief obvious symptom of this disconnect is not (usually) malicious behavior, but that the Lords of Tech use their enormous power, wealth, abilities, and influence to generate mostly—slop. With the exception of the companies run by Musk, they create not real advances to actually benefit the public, but infinite variations on “photo-sharing apps and chat interfaces for the modern consumer.” Given their goal of personal profit maximization, this is natural, but it is bad. Silicon Valley produces not collective benefit but products rewarding the “narrow attentiveness to the desires and needs of the individual.” (You will not find in Karp a libertarian economist yearning to use subjective personal utility as the measure of all things, and I doubt he has any respect for GDP as the measure of national flourishing.) The Lords of Tech constrain our sense of the possible. And at all levels, these companies affirmatively refuse to acknowledge that the cooperation and resources of the national government were indispensable in their creation. They therefore often reject working with the government toward the ends of the nation, most of all national defense, but also to all our common ends.

However, this gross dereliction of duty has not been particularly visible to the general public, because most of America suffers from the “winner’s fallacy.” The past hundred years have evinced, at least when seen from the easiest viewing angle, the triumph of the United States over our various enemies and challengers. But other nations, notably China, have pulled alongside, and in many areas, ahead, and we are not responding. Instead, we mouth fine phrases about “soft power,” which is mere “soaring rhetoric.” What America needs is hard power, built on software, and the Lords of Tech are mostly failing to contribute, and in many ways actively eroding, hard power.

Thus, both the leaders and the rank-and-file at many technology companies have repeatedly tried to frustrate partnerships with the government in national security matters, demanding that they, in effect, not the nation that made their power possible, be sovereign (although Karp doesn’t ask how many of those employees are even actual Americans, rather than foreign-born Indians or Chinese—far less than fifty percent, for certain). But whether we like it or not, the Atomic Age, in which America could dominate because we held most of the cards, is ending, and along with it the illusion of permanent peace. The age of AI weaponry has begun, and “The United States and its allies abroad should without delay commit to launching a new Manhattan Project in order to retain exclusive control over the most sophisticated forms of AI for the battlefield.” Yet the AI companies in particular either resist or actively oppose this goal, and as we have seen since this book was published in 2025, actually try to condition the use of their products by the government, while demanding the government both protect them from competition and refrain from any attempt to control their actions.

Karp isn’t done yet. He continues by berating many other aspects of our modern elite. Intellectual courage is out of fashion, both because technocracy and managerialism is rampant and, more, because free speech is widely punished. By this he means, even if he does not intend to, only Right speech; he certainly offers no examples of Left speech being suppressed. It is certainly true, for example, that university culture “systemically punish[es] anything approaching moral courage and incentiviz[es] its opposite”—as long as that target is Right moral courage, and what is incentivized is Left victory and domination.

Therefore, Karp’s chief conceptual failure is to claim that the Lords of Tech, and in general our elites, are “neutral,” “agnostic,” and have a “capacity for forming their own authentic beliefs about the world [which] has been severely diminished.” To the extent this is true, it naturally follows that they refuse to get on board with Karp’s program, which requires a positive conception of the good of the nation, and thus a rejection of neutral pluralism, followed by actions to advance that good. But the problem is, it is not true. With a few exceptions, such as Musk, Palmer Luckey of Anduril (whom Karp oddly does not mention in the book), and perhaps recently Mark Zuckerberg (though in the past he has given hundreds of millions of dollars to Left causes, and zero to Right causes), nearly every one of the Lords of Tech mouths and advances every Left goal, with the only limit being when his own wealth and power might be threatened. This is the genesis of their refusal to act on behalf of the nation as a whole, not some form of agnostic neutrality. At the same time, the reader frequently sees, or thinks he sees, glimpses that Karp is perfectly well aware of this, but is merely playing to as broad an audience as possible.

At a minimum, though, Karp is fishing in the correct waters. He sneers at those who say our loyalty should not be to our actual community, to our compatriots, but to “justice itself.” He castigates those who reject the peerless inheritance of the West, favorably quoting on this topic the historian William McNeill, who he points out would be instantly cancelled today. He repeatedly criticizes looking down on religious belief, and acknowledges that “a significant subset of Silicon Valley today undoubtedly scorns the masses for their attachment to guns and religion.” Yet he laughably maintains at the same time that it is “axiomatic in contemporary culture that all views should be tolerated” and that “the new prime directive [was] to offend no one.” Then he immediately says that “the fundamental issue is that the left establishment has decided, essentially unilaterally, that it need not be in conversation with the right—that mere engagement with the other is a sign of cultural betrayal.”

These two lines of thought, occurring throughout the book, cannot be reconciled except with either an admission of incoherence or with an esoteric reading. Karp tries hard to see the world clearly, either with limited success or while hiding his true opinions. Thus, he admits that all the leading AI systems are aggressively coded to “police wording and tone” and “patrol the limits of acceptable discourse.” What he means, of course, is that one of their core functions is to protect and advance Left interests and doctrines, but can only bring himself to admit the reason is to avoid “causing offense,” an obvious falsehood. But he formally rejects dividing the world into “oppressors and the oppressed,” thereby rejecting one of the two core doctrines of the Left, emancipation. The reader continuously wonders what the author really thinks; it seems unlikely a man as intelligent and incisive as Karp is uncertain.

In any case, for Karp, the expressed broad problem is the failure of our elites to engage what the nation is and should be, what should be our “collective identity”—concretely, not some set of abstractions. How can we create a “foundation for a broader sense of cohesion and shared purpose”? It is grossly inadequate to believe that being part of the American community consists only of “a respect for the rights of others and a broad commitment to neoliberal economic policies of free trade and the power of the market.” He continually excoriates excessive consumerism, especially the nearly total devotion of technologists to satisfying consumerism, which “comes at the expense of other broader and more significant endeavors.” And, again, the public has a right to demand what we get in exchange for the power ceded to this dubious group of “technological agnostics.”

It is perhaps no surprise to the reader, now halfway through the book, that Karp thinks there is one firm that does exemplify right action—Palantir. His company got its big break in 2010, assisting the United States Army with software to identify IEDs, the most devastating weapon used against us in the Afghan War. Not that Karp seems a big fan of that war; he points out it cost us two trillion dollars, or $300 million a day for twenty years, and that in 2006 only three members of Congress had a child serving in the military. (He seems very hesitant about foreign military adventures, despite that he undoubtedly profits from them, saying only that if we fight a war, there should be a draft, and we should fight to win.) Sclerotic elements in the Army resisted the expanded use of Palantir, as did the broader public, focused on bread and circuses (he notes that the game company Zynga was simultaneously going public at a valuation of seven billion dollars, and Groupon at twenty-five billion), but Palantir gradually gained a foothold, far from the public eye. And Palantir’s growth has rapidly accelerated, its stock price gaining 2000% between 2020 and 2026.

Karp attributes Palantir’s success largely to its, that is to say, his, refusal to buy into the “grievance industry, [which] is at risk of depriving a generation of the fierceness and sense of proportion that are essential to becoming a full participant in this world.” What Karp wants, and Palantir to him exemplifies, is “ambition,” which we have lost, or rather traded for ideological poison. We need to reject forced conformity and bring back natural hierarchy at firms (and by implication in all of society), which encourages ambition, and leads to achievement. Reinforcing all this, Karp endorses René Girard’s theory of mimetic desire; such desire, which results in pursuing stupid apps and consumerist garbage, has made Silicon Valley “toxic to creativity.”

So far, so fine. But what exactly does Karp want instead? He wants America to rebuild itself as, or to return to being, “a technological republic.” To do this, we must direct “engineering instinct, an indeed ruthless pragmatism, toward the nation’s shared goals.” (Note, however, that both engineering and pragmatism, being necessarily embedded in reality, tend to lead to Right-leaning thinking and action.) In other words, he wants to remake the nation, through a combination of state action and renewing the virtue of both the people and our leaders. A core component of this is, which, given that Karp holds nineteen billion dollars of Palantir stock, one could argue is special pleading, is that technology should be used to advance weapons systems and related methods by which the United States government can maintain military superiority.

Karp doesn’t offer a detailed program, even if he does boldly address “the next thousand years.” This isn’t a very long book; it’s more of an outline than a set of blueprints (and in fact earlier this year Palantir released a Manifesto distilled from the book). Determined state action is necessary to advance America. The free market is not enough, and in fact has caused many of the problems we face, including permitting far too much action that harms the nation. But on specifics, for starters, we should admit that the wisdom of crowds is bogus. We should reject those who say, “in the name of inclusivity,” that all cultures are equal, and instead celebrate and advance America and its unique and better culture. The West is in fact better than the rest, and Karp bemoans that we have lost the heroic, which built the West, because it is viewed as a “relic of a past we tell ourselves [is] irredeemably rooted in a history of domination and conquest.”

On more technical recommendations, we should ensure that our leaders are paid extremely high salaries, so that we get the best people (citing, among others, Singapore’s Lee Kuan Yew’s successful similar directive). Karp very much admires Lee (the “thousand years” phrase comes from Lee, as well), though he refrains from noting that many of Lee’s initiatives, from banning jury trials because of diversity and jailing his political opponents, would be, let’s say, unpopular in today’s America. Becoming more philosophical, Karp quotes Ernst Renan, who in 1882 addressed “What Is a Nation?” It “presupposes a past,” but is “summarized in the present by a tangible fact: consent, the clearly expressed desire to continue a common life.” We must renew that common life, construct “a collective identity and a shared mythology.” Tolkien’s writings demonstrate such a common mythology; Karp rails at leftists who complain Tolkien is somehow “far right” as emblematic of the problem at hand.

And then he goes full Right. I can’t really do better than quote Karp himself, so here are some representative passages from the culmination of the book:

“The challenge is that a commitment to participating in the imagined community of the nation, to some degree of forgiveness for the sins and betrayal of one’s neighbor, to a belief in the prospect of a greater and richer future together than would be possible alone, requires a faith and some form of membership in a community. Without such belonging, there is nothing for which to fight, nothing to defend, and nothing to work toward. A commitment to capitalism and the rights of the individual, however ardent, will never be sufficient; it is too thin and meager, too narrow, to sustain the human soul and psyche. James K. A. Smith, a philosophy professor at Calvin University, has correctly noted that ‘Western liberal democracies have lived off the borrowed capital of the church for centuries.’ If contemporary elite culture continues its assault on organized religion, what will remain to sustain the state? What have we built, or aspired to build, in its place?”

“The leaders of Silicon Valley are drawn . . . . [Review completes as first comment.]

[Peter Biondi]

First and foremost, shoutout to Fernando. The author is the boss of his boss’s boss’s boss. That’s pretty tight.

Secondly, this book captivated me from start to finish. While I don’t agree with many of the smaller arguments ACK makes, the overarching argument does resonate with me. Everything about the notion of a national project(s) is interesting, but I was particularly struck by the smaller anecdotes that were used and how the author framed Palantir within them. Eck swarm FTW!

Unrelated, but I’ve read books that are very similar to this one in the past. Nearly all of them have pulled historical references from Nazi controlled Germany at some point. I thought I was in the clear until the last chapter. I knew it was in there somewhere!

Finally, there was not one, but several, words I was unfamiliar with in this book. That is always cool!

[Tomislav]

Readable and occasionally interesting, but ultimately pointless book. Karp and Zamiska raise many questions about the state of the world, offer interesting facts, and amusingly apply some Straussian ideas to the tech sector. However, they fail to provide original insights or meaningful solutions to the problems they highlight. While the book demonstrates decent erudition, it feels less like a substantive intellectual analysis and more like a personal manifesto, akin to something a politician running for office might write.

The authors critique various negative cultural and political trends in American society. In contrast to their unpatriotic, agnostic, and libertarian Silicon Valley peers, they present themselves as culturally conservative and interventionist. Rather than criticizing the market in conventional terms, they argue that it is too democratic, diverting talented engineers toward trivial yet popular consumer apps while avoiding important challenges. In their view, the greatest market failure is that it gives people too much of what they want. To counter this, they advocate for greater state intervention and closer collaboration between government and the tech sector to uphold key social values and shape foreign policy.

Additionally, in a light Straussian fashion, they promote a sanitized, vague form of nationalism alongside an even more ambiguous religiosity. The titular technological republic is an upgraded version of the old-fashioned Straussian polity in which the ruling caste does not only embody classical virtues but is also proficient in coding. Of course, it is important that the gentlemen-programmers write only truly virtuous code, not some nihilistic consumer trash. That way, all of humanity's problems will be solved! Most topics in the book are only briefly explored before moving on to the next, making everything feel overly simplistic. The authors praise Berlin's fox-type of thinker, but they definitely overfoxed this book; it is unfocused and unconvincing.

Interestingly, Palantir's stock began tanking the day after this book was published – though more due to the DoD's cost-cutting announcement and Karp's stock sale plans than disappointment with the book itself. I imagine many potential readers are Palantir shareholders hoping to finally understand what the company actually does and what's happening with its stock. Unfortunately, I can't say I'm any wiser on that front after finishing the book. Ironically, I did grow a bit poorer each day while reading it. The book tells us that Palantir is a highly decentralized company full of brave and innovative people, but concrete details about its work are largely what one could find in newspapers. By the end, you may wonder why these writings weren't also published as a series of opinion essays in a magazine.

Some ideas in the book are deliberately provocative, while others are easy to agree with. However, it ultimately offers little that is new and differs little from many other books on the same subject. Karp is certainly more interesting than the average CEO, but not as compelling as an intellectual who deeply engages with these issues (he obviously lacks necessary hedgehog-type qualities). The book isn't so bad that I'd rush to sell the stock, as many readers did, but it's hardly worth reading unless you have a particular interest in Karp's career and opinions.

[Millie]

*Sigh* some men just really like war. I now understand a little more what that whole “Roman empire” thing was about. This author definitely thinks about it a lot.

They weakly argue for a few hundred pages that the smartest minds should dedicate themselves to the pursuit of American Military power, weaponry and little to nothing else.

1 star.

[Nataliya]

I need to stop reading books that could have been a tweet that I scroll past instead

[Lee Downen]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In the “Acknowledgements,” Alex Karp and Nicholas Zamiska thank their literary agent for allowing them to write a work that “fall[s] in the interstitial but…rich space between political, business, and academic treatise” (219). And it is rich, opening with epigraphs from Goethe, Thomas Schelling, and Michael Sandel; and containing surprising references throughout to figures such as Jürgen Habermas, René Girard, Leo Strauss, Francis Fukuyama, Ralph Waldo Emerson, John Dewey, Alasdair MacIntyre, Ernst Renan, Rowan Williams, and Richard Linklater. Their approving nod to the latter two alone makes them philosopher-kings in my eyes.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Clearly, Karp, who wrote a dissertation in the field of neoclassical social theory titled Aggression in der Lebenswelt: Die Erweiterung des Parsonsschen Konzepts der Aggression durch die Beschreibung des Zusammenhangs von Jargon, Aggression und Kultur, did not set out to write a bestselling work of airport detritus. It is equally clear, though, that he and Zamiska took on more than they could address. They set out to achieve two aims: First, they seek to persuade readers that “the software industry should rebuild its relationship with government and redirect its effort and attention to constructing the technology and artificial intelligence capabilities that will address the most pressing challenges [Americans] collectively face” (xiv). Second—and this is where they struggle—they try to convince readers that “[t]he engineering elite of Silicon Valley has an affirmative obligation to participate in the defense of the nation and the articulation of a national project—what is this country, what are our values, and for what do we stand…” (xiv, emphasis added). I think they are more persuasive on the first point than on the second.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The first two parts of the book (“The Software Century” and “The Hollowing Out of the American Mind”) may be illuminating for some but will seem banal (and true) to anyone who follows news about Silicon Valley, including appearances on major podcasts by certain founders and venture capitalists who have been opining about the Valley’s cultural problems for over a decade now. The authors contend that engineers in the Valley stopped working on problems of national importance, abandoned belief in any kind of larger project, and devoted themselves to building “lifestyle technologies” that solve problems such as sharing pictures online, hailing rides, and ordering food. They admire the Valley’s engineering culture but think that most of the companies there have pursued trivial ends because they have failed to reflect upon what is truly worth pursuing. And they lack a substantive, orienting narrative about America that might help them do so.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The third part (“The Engineering Mindset”) is fascinating and worth pondering: What is it about Silicon Valley’s culture that has given it and, by extension, America such a huge advantage vis-à-vis other countries when it coming to building software? Why do new Palantir employees receive a copy of the British playwright Keith Johnstone’s book Impro: Improvisation and the Theatre? (The answer to this question has to do with how status is assumed and recognized in both an improv scene and in a corporate setting, and with the threat it poses to innovation. Peter Thiel addressed the same issue years before at PayPal by creating a shifting, ambiguous organizational structure that made status and authority somewhat opaque.) Why does Karp, as Palantir's CEO, promote what he calls “constructive disobedience” (136)? How does he maintain a culture of “voracious pragmatism” (159)? Karp and Zamiska conclude that the Valley’s engineering culture has at least these two features: a “sensitivity to results, and to failure, and perhaps an abandonment of grand theories of how the world ought to be, or how things ought to work” (160); and a “sufficiently gentle and forgiving internal culture that encourages the most talented and high-integrity minds within an organization to come forward and report problems rather than hide them” (166). Much to learn here, including questions to ask about the cultures of organizations that are not performing well.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In the fourth and final part (“Rebuilding the Technological Republic”), the authors contend that we will only be able to apply an engineering culture to our “nation’s shared goals” if we can identify them, which first requires “defining who we are or aspire to be” (167). Here is where I wanted more. Teasing claims are scattered throughout:

“The prevailing agnosticism of the modern era, the reluctance to advance a substantive view about cultural value, or lack thereof…has paved the way for the market to fill the gap” (172).

“An interest in rooting the aims of a corporate enterprise in a broader context and mythology should be celebrated, not dismissed. We need more common tomes, more shared stories, not fewer, even if they must be read critically over time.” (199)

“James K.A. Smith…has correctly noted that ‘Western liberal democracies have lived off the borrowed capital of the church for centuries’” (200).

“It is now time, as [Alasdair MacIntyre] made clear, to construct ‘new forms of community within which the moral life’ can ‘be sustained’” (201).

“As Irving Kristol…has written, ‘The delicate task that faces our civilization today is not to reform the secular, rationalist orthodoxy’ but rather ‘to breathe new life into the older, now largely comatose, religious orthodoxies’” (215).

Here is where I wanted Karp and Zamiska to spin a yarn about America, telling me stories of founding, of sacrifice, and of triumph—ones that embody collective ideals, present moral exemplars, and herald paths forward. I could be wrong, but, despite what some of the quotations above may suggest, I would bet that Karp is not affiliated with any religious tradition or institution. (I have no clue about Zamiska.) So I wanted to see if he could tell a secular story about American history and identity that would underwrite a sense of national belonging, patriotism, and purpose. There are models on offer, ones that would complement his self-described “leftist” politics. I am thinking of Richard Rorty’s Achieving Our Country, Jeffrey Stout’s Democracy and Tradition, Danielle Allen’s Talking to Strangers, and Robert Pippin’s Hollywood Westerns and American Myth, to name only a few of my personal favorites.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In fairness, they do hedge a bit on the larger topic of national identity, writing in the preface, “Our broader hope is that this book prompts a discussion of the role Silicon Valley can and should play in the advancement and reinvention of a national project…” (xv, italics added). And they describe it as “the beginnings of an articulation of the theory” of a possible collective enterprise (xvi). But they are so insistent throughout that “[t]oo many leaders are reluctant to venture into the discussion, to articulate genuine belief—in an idea, a set of values, or a political project…” that, by failing to sketch even the outlines of a political project, a national mythology, or a shared history, the book ends up feeling like an extended throat-clearing exercise—or, to put it more gently, the prequel to something truly interesting. I hope there is a second book; I’ll be one of the first to buy it. And, I must add, whatever is lacking in their theory is doubly made up for in Palantir's actions—especially in Karp's personal yet very public actions over the last few years concerning Israel, Ukraine, and the global business community.

[Mitchell Wakefield]

5/5 Stars

I had the opportunity to read an advanced copy of The Technological Republic: Hard Power, Soft Belief, and the Future of the West by Alexander C. Karp and Nicholas W. Zamiska.

It delivers a sharp critique of the complacency in the tech industry, particularly its detachment from defense and national security, and offers a compelling argument for why this must change.

Karp and Zamiska highlight how Silicon Valley has shifted its focus from meaningful innovation to consumer-driven technologies, leaving the West vulnerable in an era of rising geopolitical threats. Their call for a renewed partnership between government and tech is timely and essential. As they point out, the West’s dominance in the 20th century was built on this collaboration, and failing to rebuild it now risks ceding critical ground to global competitors like China.

One of the book’s strongest points is its critique of Silicon Valley’s cultural aversion to engaging with defense technology. The authors argue that technological innovation without a sense of national purpose is shortsighted, a perspective I fully agree with. They also emphasize the importance of fostering ideological resilience, including free speech and open debate, as vital components of Western strength.

This book is a necessary wake-up call for those who believe that technological progress alone will secure the future. It underscores how much is at stake if we fail to align innovation with broader societal needs.

The Technological Republic is concise, thought-provoking, and deeply relevant. It challenges both policymakers and technologists to think beyond short-term gains and consider their role in shaping a secure future for the West. Highly recommended.

[Barbara]

Finally someone at the top of the food chain in technology is acknowledging that the USA has been squandering the talents of the best engineering minds for a generation. While investors shoveled piles of cash onto stupid apps and trivial "disruptions", other countries have focused their talents on leapfrogging our capabilities. The author is a co-founder of Palantir so of course, his view skews more toward military technology, but he does make the case for other advances whether its alternative energy, healthcare or education. The capitalistic elite has dumped too much capital on dumb, consumer-facing "innovations". At best these innovations are harmless and useless, at worst they have destroyed the mental health of a generation of children.

[J]

Should have been an essay written five years ago. I would not be surprised if you found the first draft in an LLM chat box. Embarrassing that a SLS/phd put this out under his own name, let alone the CEO of one of the most impactful tech companies for the 21st century (even if he didn’t write a lick of it).

I say this with the upmost appreciation for karp and thiel, both of whom had a profound impact on my professional career.

[Arya Pathak]

Contains some excellent points and arguments, but everything of value in this book could've been condensed into a single essay. Reading the first chapters of the first and third sections is enough. Every chapter begins on a seemingly random note, contains an interesting historical tidbit, and mostly ends up converging into the same point that has been stretching out for the past 60 pages. Best usecase for AI summary generators.

[Jules]

Most evil people can at least hide behind their stupidity to justify their actions: Alex Karp knows better and yet chooses to be awful anyway, to the detriment of his own credibility as a theorist and an author.

[Anton Cebalo]

A casually evil book that’s also ghostwritten badly with shallow anecdotes

[Sandra]

[Carol Checkler]

All theories. Lack of significant evidence to support his claims.

[Kelly]

Just finished The Technological Republic—a perfectly timed release (today) as techno-optimism reshapes our government and military. It’s a great primer on the past 100 years of collaboration (and conflict) between science, tech, and the state. Short book, under three hours to read. Highly recommend.

[Hrishi]

I expected to get really mad reading this book. After all, it is a call to action from a rich man for everything I'm allergic to - unapologetic nationalism, a fetishization of military might, an almost mythic belief in human (and American/ Western) supremacy, an argument for the ends justifying the means, a reinstatement of religion and a singular culture at the root of national identity and what not. Instead I was bored and sort of disappointed at how riddled with holes the arguments were, and how myopic the worldview they represent is. Seriously, anyone with even a slight understanding of world history and American history will see through these flimsy constructs.

I expected better from a billionaire's manifesto/ self justification!

Now there were bits I agreed with, for example when he objects to cancel culture being taken too far, or the fragility of liberals and the extremes that inclusion and diversity rhetoric can go to... but even those bits fail when you compare them to what Alex Karp, real person does to what Alex Karp, polemicist writes! "Engage intellectually with people you disagree with vehemently, don't cancel them"? Sure boss, let's see you not demonize pro Palestinian student protestors then? "Contribute to the national project in your daily work"? Sure bro, how in the hell is your financing Trump and Vance along with your partner Peter Thiel patriotic, even by your standards?

Meh. I was expecting vitriol and dragonfire. I got weak piss and a colicky child's tantrum.

[Anne]

Is it possible to give negative stars? If so, I'd give this book five of them.

Alexander Karp's book is at least 99.99% self-promotion for himself and his company, Palantir. I almost regret wading through it, hoping for something more substantive. Karp spends hundreds of pages blaming the Left for the moral vacuousness of our society, but fail to make anything resembling consistent argument. Nor does he give any real idea of what he has in mind when he calls for a "resurrection of a shared culture in the U.S."

Jack McCordick of the New Republic nailed it in his review:

"This tonal seesawing—for every Karpian truth-bomb, a lawyerly qualification; for each saber rattled, a pitch-deck cliché—is symptomatic of this book’s generic incoherence. Karp and Zamiska describe The Technological Republic as existing in the “interstitial but we hope to think rich space between political, business, and academic treatise.” That’s one way of putting it. Another is that it reads as though you asked an AI chatbot to write a set of Gladwellian think pieces in defense of American techno-militarism, with as many smart-sounding yet ultimately vacuous quotes as possible."

[George Neville-Neil]

Stop the advertising

Some amusing conservative and liberal idea in this book and some critiques that ring true but shut up about your company already. This could have been an essay but since this guy is rich they made him a book.