Silicon Valley’s Reading List Reveals Its Political Ambitions

In 2008, Paul Graham mused about the cultural differences between great US cities. Three years earlier, Graham had co-founded Y Combinator, a “startup accelerator” that would come to epitomize Silicon Valley — and would move there in 2009. But at the time Graham was based in Cambridge, Massachusetts, which, as he saw it, sent a different message to its inhabitants than did Palo Alto.

Cambridge’s message was, “You should be smarter. You really should get around to reading all those books you’ve been meaning to.” Silicon Valley respected smarts, Graham wrote, but its message was different: “You should be more powerful.”

He wasn’t alone in this assessment. My late friend Aaron Swartz, a member of Y Combinator’s first class, fled San Francisco in late 2006 for several reasons. He told me later that one of them was how few people in the Bay Area seemed interested in books.

Today, however, it feels as though people there want to talk about nothing but. Tech luminaries seem to opine endlessly about books and ideas, debating the merits and defects of different flavors of rationalism, of basic economic principles and of the strengths and weaknesses of democracy and corporate rule.

This fervor has yielded a recognizable “Silicon Valley canon.” And as Elon Musk and his shock troops descend on Washington with intentions of reengineering the government, it’s worth paying attention to the books the tech world reads — as well as the ones they don’t. Viewed through the canon, DOGE’s grand effort to cut government down to size is the latest manifestation of a longstanding Silicon Valley dream: to remake politics in its image.

The Silicon Valley Canon

Last August, Tanner Greer, a conservative writer with a large Silicon Valley readership, asked on X what the contents of the “vague tech canon” might be. He’d been provoked when the writer and technologist Jasmine Sun asked why James Scott’s Seeing Like a State, an anarchist denunciation of grand structures of government, had become a “Silicon Valley bookshelf fixture.” The prompt led Patrick Collison, co-founder of Stripe and a leading thinker within Silicon Valley, to suggest a list of 43 sources, which he stressed were not those he thought “one ought to read” but those that “roughly cover[ed] the major ideas that are influential here.”

In a later response, Greer argued that the canon tied together a cohesive community, providing Silicon Valley leaders with a shared understanding of power and a definition of greatness. Greer, like Graham, spoke of the differences between cities. He described Washington, DC as an intellectually stultified warren of specialists without soul, arid technocrats who knew their own narrow area of policy but did not read outside of it. In contrast, Silicon Valley was a place of doers, who looked to books not for technical information, but for inspiration and advice. The Silicon Valley canon provided guideposts for how to change the world.

Said canon is not directly political. It includes websites, like LessWrong, the home of the rationalist movement, and Slate Star Codex/Astral Codex Ten, for members of the “grey tribe” who see themselves as neither conservative nor properly liberal. Graham’s many essays are included, as are science fiction novels like Neal Stephenson’s The Diamond Age. Much of the canon is business advice on topics such as how to build a startup.

But such advice can have a political edge. Peter Thiel’s Zero to One, co-authored with his former student and failed Republican Senate candidate Blake Masters, not only tells startups that they need to aspire to monopoly power or be crushed, but describes Thiel’s early ambitions (along with other members of the so-called PayPal mafia) to create a global private currency that would crush the US dollar.

Then there are the Carlylian histories of “great men” (most of the subjects and authors were male) who sought to change the world. Older biographies described men like Robert Moses and Theodore Roosevelt, with grand flaws and grander ambitions, who broke with convention and overcame opposition to remake society.

Such stories, in Greer’s description, provided Silicon Valley’s leaders and aspiring leaders with “models of honor,” and examples of “the sort of deeds that brought glory or shame to the doer simply by being done.” The newer histories both explained Silicon Valley to itself, and tacitly wove its founders and small teams into this epic history of great deeds, suggesting that modern entrepreneurs like Elon Musk — whose biography was on the list — were the latest in a grand lineage that had remade America’s role in the world.

Putting Musk alongside Teddy Roosevelt didn’t simply reinforce Silicon Valley’s own mythologized self-image as the modern center of creative destruction. It implicitly welded it to politics, contrasting the politically creative energies of the technology industry, set on remaking the world for the better, to the Washington regulators who frustrated and thwarted entrepreneurial change. Mightn’t everything be better if visionary engineers had their way, replacing all the messy, squalid compromises of politics with radical innovation and purpose-engineered efficient systems?

One book on the list argues this and more. James Davidson and William Rees-Mogg’s The Sovereign Individual cheered on the dynamic, wealth-creating individuals who would use cyberspace to exit corrupt democracies, with their “constituencies of losers,” and create their own political order. When the book, originally published in 1997, was reissued in 2020, Thiel wrote the preface.

Under this simplifying grand narrative, the federal state was at best another inefficient industry that was ripe for disruption. At worst, national government and representative democracy were impediments that needed to be swept away, as Davidson and Rees-Mogg had argued. From there, it’s only a hop, skip and a jump to even more extreme ideas that, while not formally in the canon, have come to define the tech right. (...)

We don’t know which parts of the canon Musk has read, or which ones influenced the young techies he’s hired into DOGE. But it’s not hard to imagine how his current gambit looks filtered through these ideas. From this vantage, DOGE’s grand effort to cut government down to size is the newest iteration of an epic narrative of change...

One DOGE recruiter framed the challenge as “a historic opportunity to build an efficient government, and to cut the federal budget by 1/3.” When a small team remakes government wholesale, the outcome will surely be simpler, cheaper and more effective. That, after all, fits with the story that Silicon Valley disruptors tell themselves.

What the Silicon Valley Canon is Missing

From another perspective, hubris is about to get clobbered by nemesis. Jasmine Sun’s question about why so many people in tech read Seeing Like a State hints at the misunderstandings that trouble the Silicon Valley canon. Many tech elites read the book as a denunciation of government overreach. But Scott was an excoriating critic of the drive to efficiency that they themselves embody. (...)

Musk epitomizes that bulldozing turn of mind. Like the Renaissance engineers who wanted to raze squalid and inefficient cities to start anew, DOGE proposes to flense away the complexities of government in a leap of faith that AI will do it all better. If the engineers were not thoroughly ignorant of the structures they are demolishing, they might hesitate and lose momentum.

Seeing Like a State, properly understood, is a warning not just to bureaucrats but to social engineers writ large. From Scott’s broader perspective, AI is not a solution, but a swift way to make the problem worse. It will replace the gross simplifications of bureaucracy with incomprehensible abstractions that have been filtered through the “hidden layers” of artificial neurons that allow it to work. DOGE’s artificial-intelligence-fueled vision of government is a vision from Franz Kafka, not Friedrich Hayek.

by Henry Farrell, Programmable Mutter |  Read more:

Image: Foreshortening of a Library by Carlo Galli Bibiena
[ed. Well, we all know how that turned out: hubris did indeed get clobbered by nemesis; but also by a public that was ignored, and a petutulant narcissicist in the White House. It's been well documented how we live in a hustle culture these days - from Silicon Valley to Wall Street, Taskrabbit to Uber, Ebay to YouTube, ad infinitum. And if you fall behind... well, tough luck, your fault. Not surprisingly, the people advocating for this kind of zero sum thinking are the self-described, self-serving winners (and wannabes) profiled here. What is surprising is that they've convinced half the country that this is a good thing. Money, money, money (and power) are the only metrics worth living for. Here's a good example of where this kind of thinking leads: This may be the most bonkers tech job listing I’ve ever seen (ArsTechnica). 

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Here’s a job pitch you don’t see often.

What if, instead of “work-life balance,” you had no balance at all—your life was your work… and work happened seven days a week?

Did I say days? I actually meant days and nights, because the job I’m talking about wants you to know that you will also work weekends and evenings, and that “it’s ok to send messages at 3am.”

Also, I hope you aren’t some kind of pajama-wearing wuss who wants to work remotely; your butt had better be in a chair in a New York City office on Madison Avenue, where you need enough energy to “run through walls to get things done” and respond to requests “in minutes (or seconds) instead of hours.”

To sweeten this already sweet deal, the job comes with a host of intangible benefits, such as incredible colleagues. The kind of colleagues who are not afraid to be “extremely annoying if it means winning.” The kind of colleagues who will “check-in on things 10x daily” and “double (or quadruple) text if someone hasn’t responded”—and then call that person too. The kind of colleagues who have “a massive chip on the shoulder and/or a neurodivergent brain.”

That’s right, I’m talking about “A-players.” There are no “B-players” here, because we all know that B-players suck. But if, by some accident, the company does onboard someone who “isn’t an A-player,” there’s a way to fix it: “Fast firing.”

“Please be okay with this,” potential employees are told. (...)

If you live for this kind of grindcore life, you can join a firm that has “Tier 1” engineers, a “Tier 1” origin story, “Tier 1” VC investors, “Tier 1” clients, and a “Tier 1” domain name for which the CEO splashed out $12 million.

Best of all, you’ll be working for a boss who “slept through most of my classes” until he turned 18 and then “worked 100-hour weeks until I became a 100x engineer.” He also dropped out of college, failed as a “solo founder,” and has “a massive chip on my shoulder.” Now, he wants to make his firm “the greatest company of all time” and is driven to win “so bad that I’m sacrificing my life working 7 days a week for it.”

He will also “eat dog poop if it means winning”—which is a phrase you do not often see in official corporate bios. (I emailed to ask if he would actually eat dog poop if it would help his company grow. He did not reply.)

Fortunately, this opportunity to blow your one precious shot at life is at least in service of something truly important: AI-powered advertising. (Icon)

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[ed. See also: The China Tech Canon (Concurrent).]