The gospel according to Palantir

Last July, four high-ranking tech executives — all of them involved with artificial intelligence — were sworn into the US Army Reserves with the rank of lieutenant colonel. They were part of a new unit called Detachment 201, also known as the Executive Innovation Corps. The Pentagon has introduced many initiatives to deepen relationships with Silicon Valley. But making officers out of multimillionaire executives with no military experience served as a strong symbol of a new era in which venture capitalists and technologists see themselves as essential to the defense of the nation.

The tech industry, which once prided itself on its libertarian- and counterculture-inflected antiwar ideals, has emphatically re-enlisted in the American military project. Drawn by patriotism and lucrative government contracts, numerous tech companies — from established giants like Google and SpaceX to military-minded startups in Southern California — have started working for the defense establishment, from supplying the Department of Homeland Security to building AI-powered drones and autonomous weapons to be used in Ukraine, Gaza, and Iran. Anduril, a leading munitions startup, just announced a Pentagon contract that may be worth up to $20 billion.

No company has driven tech's transformation from keyboard to warrior like Palantir, a data and analytics firm cofounded by Peter Thiel, which has a current market cap of $360 billion. Palantir's financial network and its alumni are responsible for bringing numerous defense-tech startups into being. And it helped brush away the tech industry's reticence to be involved in war-making.

Now, a growing canon of books by and about Palantirians is helping to crystallize, and proselytize, tech's new hawkishness. Last year, Karp and his Palantir colleague Nicholas W. Zamiska published "The Technological Republic: Hard Power, Soft Belief, and the Future of the West," which outlined their austere vision for a militarized republic secured by Silicon Valley technologies and led by highly skilled engineers. Last fall, New York Times Magazine contributor Michael Steinberger published an authorized biography, "The Philosopher in the Valley: Alex Karp, Palantir, and the Rise of the Surveillance State." Now, Shyam Sankar, Palantir's chief technology officer and one of the four techies-turned-officers, has published "Mobilize: How to Reboot the American Industrial Base and Stop World War III." Cowritten with his colleague Madeline Hart, "Mobilize" claims that the US government needs to urgently boost military production — with the help of Silicon Valley — in order to head off a conflict with China, which the authors think will attempt to capture Taiwan in 2027.

From these books, and from a battery of public statements by Karp and his cofounders, a distinctive worldview emerges — an unapologetically nationalistic attitude that has total contempt for one's enemies in politics and business and that sees constant, world-rending conflict in our future. This belief system was developed by a group of people who exhibit a profound wish to live in interesting times, to be the shield defending America in a world of constant threats. You might call it Palantirianism.

Birthed from the 20-year-long global war on terror, which coincided with the tech boom, Palantirianism holds that America's adversaries don't negotiate for peace. They surrender entirely — or, as Karp has said, they will be too "scared" to challenge the US in the first place because they fear immediate destruction. Palantirians' catchword is "deterrence" — derived not from fear of mutual nuclear annihilation or diplomacy but by developing overwhelming AI-based firepower. "The preconditions for a durable peace often come only from a credible threat of war," Karp writes in "The Technological Republic."

Under Palantirianism, the military-industrial complex that President Dwight Eisenhower famously warned about is good for the world — but it would be far better with the tech industry's participation and leadership. "Eisenhower wasn't warning about the existence of the military-industrial complex; he was warning about its potential for undue influence, a distinction often lost," write Sankar and Hart. In their view, bringing together Silicon Valley and the Pentagon is not a step toward undue influence for America's tech billionaires. It's exactly what the country requires: "American capitalism and the American military need each other," they write. "Reuniting the American industrial base, commercial and defense, is an existential issue."

Palantirians see securing American military hegemony as the national priority. Karp, who once called himself a "neo-Marxist" and a Democratic Party supporter before drifting rightward, told his biographer that national security is the only issue that matters to him, and that the tech industry's workers should devote themselves to the same. "A generation of programmers remains ready to dedicate their working lives to sating the needs of capitalist culture, and to enrich itself, but declines to ask more fundamental questions about what ought to be built and for what purpose," he writes. The answer for Karp, the high priest of Palantirianism, is obvious: What ought to be built is what makes people safer. What makes people safer is empowering the military, police, and intelligence services. That is his vision of the common good.

His vision is now transforming the tech industry, the military, and how we look at national security. "We have made the mistake of allowing a technocratic ruling class to form and take hold in this country without asking for anything quite substantial in return. What should the public demand for abandoning the threat of revolt?" Karp writes, sounding like the Marxist of his youth. "Free email is not enough."

Palantir grew out of a program at PayPal — where Thiel was CEO — to fight financial fraud in its system. The company itself was later founded in 2003 with an explicit mission: defending the West, which its founders see as imperiled. "A moment of reckoning has arrived for the West," Karp writes early in his book. It's not always clear what those threats are (or even what constitutes "the West"). In the conservative tech mogul's imaginarium, wokeness and DEI seem to be as dangerous to the American public as a revanchist Russia. Karp frequently refers to an organized "assault on religion," without elaborating except to say that it "left us vulnerable as a society."

With seed money from the CIA's In-Q-Tel venture capital firm — which the agency established to help incubate national-security startups — Palantir slowly grew to become the go-to analytics platform for much of the military and intelligence establishment. It wasn't an easy ride: The company was in the red for more than 20 years, and it sued the US Army, claiming that it had boxed out Palantir by violating its own procurement rules. Palantir won the lawsuit, cultivated numerous government and military insiders (who were sometimes given its software for free), and now runs a software platform, known as Project Maven, that's used across the US military and NATO. It has other software tools that have been used by corporations, police departments, hospitals, and the federal government when it was tackling the COVID-19 pandemic.

Maven started as software to analyze drone video feeds, with a $10 million contract going to Google. After Google employees protested working for the Pentagon and Google dropped the project, Palantir, working alongside other tech companies, picked it up and ran with it. Maven eventually became "an all-purpose AI operating system" integrating vast data sources into a dashboard that intelligence analysts have said makes their work much easier, even saving lives in the field. Maven is now used in conjunction with other systems, such as Anthropic's Claude chatbot, which sits on top of Palantir's platform. The Washington Post reported that Claude was used to rapidly generate thousands of targets for the ongoing US-Israeli bombing campaign in Iran. The US military is investigating whether AI was used to target the bombing of a school that killed at least 100 Iranian children. In a sign of how Maven has the potential to take humans out of the loop, Sankar and Hart note in their book that "machine-to-machine connections were enabled to allow Maven to communicate with weapons systems and send confirmed targets directly to artillery."

With its martial mission, Palantir isn't like many software companies. Most employees have one of three job titles: deployment strategist, product development engineer, or forward-deployed engineer. The latter group is software engineers sent to work directly with clients — whether in Manhattan or Kabul — to customize Palantir's tools and troubleshoot on the fly.

Leading this motley "artists colony" is Karp, who has a Ph.D. from Goethe University, enjoys cross-country skiing with his Norwegian ex-commando bodyguards, practices tai chi, and retains four Austrian assistants with whom he speaks in German. An ex-Israeli intelligence officer serves as "a kind of fixer" for Karp, who describes to his biographer a lifelong feeling of personal vulnerability.

Karp once had a policy of never spending more than $1 million for a home; that was before he received a $1.1 billion pay package in 2020. Now he owns a private jet and lavish properties all over the country, most of them in ski areas. Recently, he spent $120 million on a Benedictine monastery in Colorado.

He calls himself "a fluorescent praying mantis." With his many-limbed mannerisms and braggadocious quips, Karp has turned himself into a mascot for Palantir's culture. "Always energetic and upbeat around the office," he's known for launching into impromptu talks with employees that become an "orgy of free association," Steinberger writes. He can be "a little bit incoherent," but also exhibits "crazy charisma."

In public, his mad-mogul image can play well, generating viral clips of his vows to drone enemies with "fentanyl-laced urine." TV producers began to love him because "he was reliably unfiltered, thanks in part to his practice of getting hopped-up on Mexican Coke beforehand."

The son of a white Jewish father and a Black mother, Karp's identity has been a core throughline in his life and career. As a child, Karp was bullied at school, contributing to a sense of fear and personal instability.

"You're a racially amorphous, far-left Jewish kid who's also dyslexic — would you not come up with the idea that you're fucked?" Karp says to Steinberger. In this context, Karp's sense of identity was hopelessly complicated and a potential social liability.

Karp didn't tell his Palantir colleagues that he was Black until 2019, but he presented differently in his youth. He went to college at Haverford, where he "was active in black student affairs, and his social life mainly revolved around Haverford's black community," Steinberger writes. He organized a conference at Yale about racism on college campuses and wore a Palestinian keffiyeh in a yearbook photo. One of his close friends from the time said, "He was much more of a Black man then than he is now."

After college, Karp enrolled at Stanford Law School, which he almost immediately regarded as a mistake. He became friends with another disenchanted classmate, Thiel, who at the time was already a deeply ideological veteran of campus culture wars.

After Stanford, Karp moved to Germany to pursue a doctorate in sociology at Goethe University. Karp would later say that Jurgen Habermas, one of Germany's postwar intellectual giants, was for a time his dissertation advisor, which Habermas has denied. According to letters examined by Steinberger, Habermas tried to steer Karp toward an English-language degree in another subject. "Your topic would require a literary approach to a topic that often overwhelms the linguistic sensibility of us native speakers — and yours, you won't blame me, even more so," Habermas wrote to Karp.

Karp didn't listen. He went on to finish his dissertation — an examination of how aggression is used as a tool of social integration — which he wrote in German under the supervision of Karola Brede, who had previously studied under Habermas. With Brede, Karp cowrote an academic article — the only one he published — a consideration of "eliminationist" anti-Semitism and Daniel Goldhagen's book "Hitler's Willing Executioners."

In the years since, Karp has embraced his Jewishness while expressing reluctance to claim his Black identity. The story of his parents' relationship became for him a kind of cautionary tale of how identity politics run amok.

"My father wanted to marry a Black woman," says Ben Karp, Alex's brother. "Dating Leah was a powerful way of signaling his progressivism," Steinberger notes. Leah Jaynes liked that Bob Karp was Jewish, and Karp liked that she was Black. They eventually divorced, after which Bob Karp remarried and adopted biracial children. Bob's new family didn't sit well with his sons. "Alex's realization, years later, that racial and ethnic identity had been foundational to his parents' relationship was part of the reason he developed a visceral dislike of identity politics," writes Steinberger. "He felt as if he had been the product of virtue signaling, and it bothered him."

Steinberger depicts Karp's personal reckoning over his parentage as part of what moved him to the right. In 2015, he told company employees that he didn't like Trump. According to "The Philosopher in the Valley," Karp once told a friend that he wouldn't mind pushing Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu out of a helicopter. The company has gone on to work for ICE and other government agencies executing hardline Trump policies.

Two global events contributed to Karp's political metamorphosis: COVID and Hamas' attack against Israel on Oct. 7, 2023. During the pandemic, Karp stocked up on canned food and bullets, and loved his time in isolation. "While the pandemic was wretched for most people, Karp found it blissful," writes Steinberger. Plenty of time for cross-country skiing.

After Palantir returned from remote work, Karp's proclamations became more extreme. He started calling Palantir "a prepper company" and reveling in its role in doling out violence to enemies of the West.

Oct. 7 reanimated Karp's sense of personal vulnerability and his commitment to Israel. Having once celebrated the virtues of debate with his friend and political opposite Peter Thiel, he told Palantirians that the company wouldn't tolerate any disagreement over its work for the country. Palantir took out a full page ad in The New York Times declaring, "Palantir Stands With Israel."

Under Karp's never-apologize-never-explain leadership, Palantir has become a leading bogeyman for opponents of the surveillance state. New York City is now speckled with posters denouncing the company as the "enemy." Former Treasury Secretary Robert Reich recently called Palantir "America's most dangerous corporation."

The truth is more tangled. By its own claim, Palantir proudly stands for American militarism, abets the surveillance state, and has catalyzed a shift in the tech industry toward supporting the security services. But influential as Palantir is, the company makes software — tools to implement government policy. It does not directly collect data or conduct surveillance. It sucks up that information from clients, including authoritarian states, making the job of war-making or repression potentially much easier. There are numerous firms beyond Palantir — including the big five "prime" defense contractors — engaged in this kind of work.

Palantirianism — a belief system that is now being spread through venture capital investments in startups like Anduril, Saronic, and Shield AI, and tech's close alliance with the Trump administration — is far more influential than Palantir itself. People "want to know they are safe, and safe means that the other person is scared," Karp said at an appearance at the Ronald Reagan Defense Forum. This is the simple core belief that now animates the defense tech industry and swaths of the Silicon Valley elite. (Elon Musk is a Karp fan.)

By 2025, Karp was writing in shareholder letters that the West owed its success to its primacy at "applying organized violence" — a notion of which he evidently approved. He started talking about how certain cultures were "regressive and harmful" compared to others.

"We have been building products for a world that is violent, disjointed, and irrational, a world in which you have to show strength," Karp said during an earnings call. People "have to pick sides." Some people "are violent and not conformant with morality."

For many years, Karp said that fascism was his greatest fear. He wanted nothing more than to stem the rise of the far right in America. Yet Karp's company has provided direct assistance to what many observers have described as the most authoritarian president in US history. He did all this with the help of his close friend Peter Thiel, Palantir's chairman, an early Trump supporter who decades ago said that he had tired of electoral democracy. Steinberger summed up the contradiction: "With Trump restored to power, it appeared that authoritarianism had triumphed in the United States and that Palantir, which Karp had always touted as a bulwark of the liberal international order, would henceforth be serving the agenda of a president who was contemptuous of America's political tradition."

Although Karp has matured, in his biographer's view, into a "statesman CEO," he is still driven by spleen. Throughout "The Philosopher in the Valley," he repeatedly complains that his college alma mater hasn't invited him to give a speech or cultivated him as a donor. Karp seems to detests Haverford with a similar passion that he applies to terrorists and student protesters. "I eventually came to realize that he needed enemies," Steinberger writes of Karp. That need, it turns out, has implications for us all.

Jacob Silverman is a contributing writer for Business Insider. He is the author, most recently, of "Gilded Rage: Elon Musk and the Radicalization of Silicon Valley."

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