Palantir vient de changer l’Occident à jamais

The capacity of free and democratic societies to assert themselves requires more than just moral appeal; it demands hard power, and the hard power of this century will be built on software. Alexander Karp, author of "Technological Republic" and CEO of Palantir, a major American tech company with a key role in US defense strategy, is at the forefront of this idea. Palantir, valued at approximately $350 billion on the stock market, develops software that helps states, armies, and intelligence agencies aggregate and analyze vast amounts of data to make operational decisions. Founded in 2003 by Karp and Peter Thiel with initial funding from In-Q-Tel, the CIA's venture capital fund, Palantir's DNA has always been at the intersection of tech and American intelligence. It was not a company that grew closer to the state over time; it was born within it. For comparison, Lockheed Martin, the world's largest military contractor, responsible for F-35s, THAAD missiles, anti-missile defense systems, and reconnaissance satellites—essentially the industrial backbone of the Pentagon—is valued at around $135 billion. This means that, in the market's perception, Palantir is worth almost three times Lockheed Martin, despite generating merely over $4 billion in revenue annually, compared to Lockheed Martin's $75 billion. This valuation appears absurd by classical financial standards, yet it persists, having survived numerous warnings and critical reports. The resurgence of Karp's book, "Technological Republic," originally a 250-page philosophical essay co-written with his legal advisor Nicolas Zamiska, is significant. It mixes anthropology, political theory, and references to figures like Isaiah Berlin and Saint Augustine, far from a typical corporate document. The book, which had been quietly available for over a year, suddenly became a topic of widespread conversation after Palantir's official X account published a 22-point summary in mid-April, presented as a condensed manifesto. This sudden attention, backed by endorsements from figures like Jamie Dimon (JP Morgan CEO), Eric Schmidt (former Google CEO), General James Mattis (former Secretary of Defense), and Anders Fogh Rasmussen (former NATO Secretary General, indicates a convergence of finance, tech, defense, and intellectual establishments. This suggests not a mere editorial coincidence, but a potential societal vision or political movement. The central question is why this book now, and what is truly being prepared. Behind the philosophical facade, there's a pragmatic agenda related to how Wall Street values certain companies, how the Pentagon allocates budgets, and the evolving pact between American tech and the state. Karp and Zamiska's manifesto revolves around several key ideas. First, they argue that Silicon Valley has betrayed its original mission. Historically, the nation's best engineers collaborated with the state; DARPA invented the ancestor of the internet, and Bell Labs produced the foundations of modern telecommunications, GPS, and semiconductors. Silicon Valley itself emerged from a military context, with semiconductors initially developed for ballistic missiles and military satellites. For decades, American tech was an extension of US sovereignty. However, the Vietnam War, counterculture movements, and the rise of the consumer internet altered this relationship. Working for the government became unattractive to top engineers, who instead focused on photo-sharing apps, advertising algorithms, and tools to maximize platform engagement—fun but strategically insignificant endeavors. Karp labels this "intellectual fragility," a symptom of an ecosystem where Western elites avoid conflict, debate, and strong value assertions, preferring polite unanimity over confrontation. This "bread and circuses" mentality, he argues, makes society forget that strong leaders ensure peace, raising concerns about potential dystopian or dictatorial outcomes. The second core idea is a geopolitical observation: the race for AI is not merely technological but an arms race, akin to the nuclear race of the 1940s or the space race of the 1960s. The problem, Karp highlights, is China, which does not grapple with ethical debates on AI or face employee petitions refusing military work, as Google did with Project Maven in 2018. If Western engineers continue to refuse defense work due to moral stances, while Chinese engineers are less resistant, the race becomes challenging. Many American leaders, supporting Karp's thesis, argue that global competition has never been stronger, necessitating a robust, even divisive, strategy. Not taking risks, they contend, guarantees losing everything. The third idea is a prescription: to re-establish a "technological republic." This means recreating the historic pact between tech and the state, in both directions. The American state must profoundly reform, adopting an "engineer's mentality" characterized by speed, rapid iteration (design, test, fail, restart), results-driven culture, and tolerance for quick failure, shedding its 20th-century bureaucratic ways. Concurrently, the tech sector must accept its role as an instrument of sovereignty, abandoning neutrality to actively defend Western democracies. My hypothesis is that this book and Palantir's valuation are intrinsically linked. In finance, companies are valued either by classical methods (revenue, margins, growth, sector multiples) or by narrative. The narrative method values what a company represents within a larger story, potentially bypassing traditional ceilings. Tesla, for instance, positioned itself not as a car manufacturer but as a software and service platform for robots. Similarly, SpaceX, prior to its anticipated IPO, was linked to a $2 trillion valuation by envisioning itself as a "total technological platform," a "civilizational infrastructure based on AI," rather than just an industrial or telecom service company. I believe Karp's book serves as a tool to shift Palantir, and a broader sector, from the classical valuation method to the narrative one. Without this political vision, Palantir remains a data analytics software company for governments and large enterprises—a good company, but valued by standard B2B software-as-a-service multiples. With the book, Palantir transforms into "the software infrastructure of the Western technological republic," a new, unprecedented category that defies conventional valuation, allowing for "sky is the limit" multiples. This re-categorization is urgent, especially as generative AI threatens the traditional software industry, potentially making Palantir's offerings seem less indispensable. Furthermore, the book aims to make Palantir indispensable for governmental security, regardless of political party. If the book's thesis is accepted by influential figures, abandoning Palantir would no longer be a budgetary decision but an abandonment of sovereignty and Western survival. This text operates on multiple reinforcing levels. First, the industrial layer: the book implicitly justifies massive techno-military rearmament to counter China, leading to increased budgets and contracts for both traditional defense contractors and new entrants like Anduril, SpaceX, and OpenAI. Second, the cultural layer: this ideological reconquest targets political decision-makers and the broader public, aiming to build consensus for the industrial layer's operations by framing military contracts as civilizational necessities, rather than controversial dealings. Third, the financial layer: it addresses capital allocators (sovereign wealth funds, Wall Street, family offices, pension funds) by defining a new asset class—"Western civilizational infrastructure" or "technological republic equity"—that merits its own multiples and rules, benefiting from structural political protection, rather than being valued as conventional software companies. These three layers mutually reinforce each other. The cultural layer legitimizes the industrial layer, transforming military contracts into civilizational necessities. The industrial layer fuels the financial layer by providing the revenue pipeline that underpins high valuations. The financial layer, in turn, funds the cultural layer through profits reinvested in think tanks, foundations, books, and conferences that strengthen the doctrine. This self-improving, closed loop makes the system doctrinally armored; criticizing any layer without being accused of naiveté or intellectual fragility becomes nearly impossible. The timing of this manifesto is crucial. Palantir's 22-point summary on X, which garnered over 30 million views, ignited widespread debate and media coverage, including discussions of "technofascism" and "war AI." This wasn't a casual social media move but a precisely calibrated communication strategy. The shift Karp advocates has already begun: Anduril and Shield AI are developing AI-powered defense systems, SpaceX has its military-focused Starshield, and OpenAI has removed its explicit ban on military use, now working with the Pentagon. Even Silicon Valley, once wary, now views defense as a legitimate field. The wars in Ukraine and the Middle East highlight the critical role of drones, satellite imagery, data processing, and AI in targeting, making companies like Palantir and SpaceX increasingly vital. The potential return of a more aggressive Trump administration, focused on strategic competition with China, industrial rearmament, and patriotic tech, further aligns the planets. Recent developments include a $10 billion contract for Pal