How did Peter Thiel, once a libertarian seeking escape from democratic socialism, come to build the tools of state coercion?
There was a time when Peter Thiel appeared to be one of us.
By “us”, I mean idealistic libertarians, committed to establishing a world of maximal individual freedom, a minimal state, and radically free markets, based on the principles of classical liberalism – a term he used himself.
In the late 1990s, as a young Stanford philosophy and law graduate helping to build PayPal, Thiel articulated a vision that any classical liberal could admire. He saw digital payments as a tool for liberating individuals from the grip of government-controlled currencies and inflationary monetary policy.
He spoke the language of Hayek and Mises, of spontaneous order and voluntary exchange. He backed the Seasteading Institute, that gloriously quixotic venture to build floating sovereign communities beyond the reach of any state. He endorsed Ron Paul for president in 2008. He championed individual liberty, technological progress and the creative power of free markets.
He was, in short, one of the most articulate and well-resourced libertarians of his generation.
Today, Thiel stands at the centre of a political network that has placed his former employee in the Vice Presidency, his former colleagues throughout the federal bureaucracy, and his data analytics company, Palantir, at the heart of an unprecedented expansion of state power.
He has become not a champion of liberty, but an architect of the very Leviathan he once promised to dismantle.
The story of how this happened is not merely the biography of one eccentric billionaire. It is a cautionary tale about the libertarian-to-authoritarian pipeline that has consumed much of Silicon Valley.
How Peter Thiel, and others like him, evolved from idealistic libertarians seeking to escape state power to techno-fascists who co-opted state power to forge a world more amenable to their own interests, demands an honest reckoning from those of us who still believe that individual freedom is the foundation of a decent society.
The Education of a Libertarian
The decisive moment in Thiel’s intellectual evolution came not gradually, but with a published confession.
In his 2009 essay for the Cato Institute, The Education of a Libertarian, Thiel declared that he no longer believed “freedom and democracy are compatible”.
It was a sentence that sent a jolt through libertarian circles, not because the tension between liberty and majoritarian democracy was a new observation but because of where Thiel took the argument.
Classical liberals from Tocqueville to Buchanan have worried about the tyranny of the majority. Many libertarians have spoken wistfully of the notion of a monarchy headed by a libertarian philosopher-king, commanding the people to be free.
Of course, the ancient objection to absolute monarchy – that the powers a benevolent dictator wields can also, and inevitably will, be wielded by repressive tyrants who succeed them – meant that the libertarian philosopher-king idea remained firmly in the realm of late-night, wine-soaked, political fantasy.
The traditional liberal response to the democratic dilemma of the tyranny of the majority is to recognise that despite its flaws, democracy avoids the obvious injustices of aristocracy or plutocracy, and is the only political system that is somewhat resistant to popular uprisings and revolution.
In order to secure individual rights and freedoms, then, democracy must be married to a liberal constitution that serves to constrain the power of government to infringe on those rights and freedoms. Democracy ensures fair representation, and the constitution ensures individual liberty.
Thiel did not advocate for constitutional democracy, however. Having declared himself disillusioned with the democratic appeal of free-market capitalism, he concluded that politics itself was a dead end.
He proposed three “escape routes” from democratic politics: cyberspace, seasteading, and outer space.
Thiel’s essay can certainly be read with some sympathy. Yet most libertarians at the time took it as little more than the provocative and hyperbolic musings of a brilliant contrarian.
Sinister manifesto
With hindsight, however, it reads as a far more sinister manifesto.
Other signals from Thiel’s early life suggest that his outlook might have been far more elitist and chauvinistic than it at first appeared.
Thiel is an immigrant to the US. Born in Germany, he spent some years of his childhood in southern Africa in the 1970s, where he was exposed to apartheid in Johannesburg, and, allegedly, to glorification of Nazism at a German school in Swakopmund, in what was then South-West Africa.
He says the harsh discipline and uniformity of apartheid-era schools instilled in him a distaste for conformity and regimentation, and an appreciation for individualism and freedom. It might also have instilled in him a disdain for people who did not share his particular heritage, however.
While he was at Stanford, in the late 1980s, the university replaced of a course focused on “Western Culture” with a more multicultural and diverse course, “Culture, Ideas and Values”.
This prompted Thiel to co-found the right-wing Stanford Review, which opposed the course change, and the Jesse Jackson-inspired Rainbow Coalition that celebrated it and advocated for the rights and interests of minority students. The Stanford Review would go on to win a lawsuit protecting its right to use racial or gender-based insults.
Thiel remained close to several other high-flying members of the “PayPal mafia” with links to South Africa, including Elon Musk, David Sacks and Roelof Botha.
What distinguished Thiel from mainstream libertarian thought, even in those early days, was his emphasis on elite ability and power, and his disdain both for ordinary voters and for non-Western cultures.
Where most libertarians argue that freedom matters because it belongs to every person by right, Thiel increasingly framed freedom as instrumental – valuable only insofar as it unleashes technological visionaries to reshape the world.
In his 2014 book Zero to One, he went further, arguing that monopolies, not competitive markets, are the true engines of progress.
This was pointedly ambiguous. Of course, any startup should strive to be a monopoly; competition hurts profits, after all. Yet for anyone who had studied Adam Smith, such a bold defence of monopoly was heresy.
From escape to capture
If Thiel’s intellectual evolution was troubling, the practical expression of his ideas have now come to alarm many advocates of limited government.
In 2004, Thiel co-founded Palantir Technologies. Named after the seeing stones of Tolkien’s Middle-earth, Palantir provides data analytics and surveillance tools to governments and intelligence agencies.
Palantir was built on software that PayPal used to detect fraud and money-laundering – software named Gotham.
The private investors of Silicon Valley were uninterested in an expensive analytics layer sitting on top of existing data systems, but government, with its disparate siloes full of unstructured data and poorly-maintained systems was low-hanging fruit. Thiel and his co-founders had a lot more luck piquing the interest of their government contacts, and attracted seed capital through In-Q-Tel, a firm widely associated with the intelligence community.
Since then, Palantir’s federal contracts have grown from $4.4 million in 2009 to $970.5 million in 2025. Since January 2025, under the second Trump administration, Palantir has been awarded over $1.3 billion in federal contracts spanning the Departments of Defence, Homeland Security, Treasury, and Health and Human Services.
The nature of these contracts should give any libertarian pause. Palantir built the platform that powers immigration enforcement, including a system designed to track migrants’ movements in real time. It is in discussions with the Internal Revenue Service and Social Security Administration about creating centralised databases combining information across federal agencies.
A former Palantir engineer now serves as Chief Information Officer at the Department of Health and Human Services, which holds $405 million in Palantir contracts. In February 2026, the Department of Homeland Security signed a five-year, $1 billion contract with the company to support immigration enforcement.
Alex Karp, a co-founder of Palantir, co-wrote a 2025 book entitled The Technological Republic, in which he extolls the potential of advanced technology to assure the strategic dominance of the US over its geopolitical rivals. Silicon Valley, the authors argue, should serve US government and military interests in defence of Western civilisation.
Thiel once viewed the internet, and technology more broadly, as a means to escape government coercion. With Palantir, he is deploying technology to super-charge the power of the very government whose authoritarianism he once sought to escape.
This is not deregulation. This is not “getting government out of the way”. This is the construction of a surveillance architecture that would have horrified the Peter Thiel of 1999, the Peter Thiel of 2009, and, for that matter, any libertarian worthy of the name.
The man who wanted to create currencies, seasteads and space colonies beyond government control now builds the tools through which the state watches, tracks, and controls its citizens.
The irony is breathtaking; the hypocrisy is worse.
Kingmaker
Thiel’s influence extends far beyond a single company. His most consequential political investment has been JD Vance, now Vice President of the United States.
The relationship began when Vance, then a Yale Law student, attended a Thiel lecture on technological stagnation – an event Vance has called “the most significant moment” of his time at Yale.
Thiel subsequently hired Vance at his investment firm Mithril Capital, helped finance his venture capital firm Narya Capital, introduced him to Donald Trump at Mar-a-Lago in 2021, and then poured a record $15 million into Vance’s 2022 Ohio Senate campaign through the super PAC Protect Ohio Values – among the largest single donations to Senate candidates in American history.
When Trump selected Vance as his running mate in 2024, the fingerprints were unmistakable.
Thiel had introduced them, funded the intermediary steps, and aligned an entire network of Silicon Valley figures, including David Sacks, who became Trump’s artificial intelligence and crypto czar, to support the ticket.
The New York Times has described Thiel as “the original tech right power player”. Fortune magazine ran a story documenting the web of former employees, colleagues, and protégés now embedded across the federal government: the Vice President, the AI policy adviser, the ambassador to Denmark, the director of the Office of Science and Technology Policy, and numerous figures inside the ill-starred Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE).
A libertarian is supposed to believe that concentrated power is dangerous – whether it resides in government, in corporations, or in the hands of any single individual.
The entire architecture of liberal constitutionalism exists to prevent exactly this kind of arrangement: one man’s employees and ideological allies, placed strategically throughout the executive branch, while that same man’s company collects billions in government contracts.
This is not the disintermediation of the state. This is its capture.
Silicon Valley’s conversion
Thiel’s transformation does not exist in isolation. A significant cohort of Silicon Valley figures has undergone a similar political migration, trading libertarian rhetoric for an alliance with executive power.
Elon Musk, Thiel’s co-founder at PayPal and once a self-described “moderate”, poured over $250 million into Trump’s 2024 campaign and Republican causes before taking a leading role in DOGE, wielding extraordinary influence over federal spending and personnel.
Marc Andreessen, co-founder of the venture capital titan Andreessen Horowitz, published the Little Tech Agenda in mid-2024, a policy document that (not unreasonably) framed support for Trump as a defence of innovation against regulatory overreach, but also placed military power on an equal footing with free markets and technology supremacy as a guarantor of peace and prosperity.
David Sacks hosted a Silicon Valley fundraiser for Trump and now occupies a formal policy role.
The common thread is that these figures invoke the language of deregulation and disruption – language borrowed from libertarianism – while building something very different: a political coalition in which technology firms receive enormous government contracts, favourable regulatory treatment, and direct access to executive power, in exchange for political support and technical infrastructure that enhances the surveillance powers and military might of the US government.
The Little Tech Agenda complained about regulation, but the actual behaviour of the tech-right coalition has been to secure government favour and increase its power, not to shrink government.
This is not libertarianism. It is state capitalism, also known as corporatism: the marriage of corporate and state power under the banner of supremacy.
Mussolini would have recognised the structure, even if he wouldn’t have understood the jargon.
Contradicting libertarianism
It is worth laying out plainly the points at which Thiel’s current posture contradicts the principles he once espoused.
A libertarian believes in limited government. Thiel’s Palantir is building a centralised surveillance infrastructure that extends the reach of government into the lives of millions – tracking citizens and non-citizens alike, consolidating tax and health data, and providing intelligence agencies with tools of mass monitoring.
A libertarian believes in competitive markets. Thiel argued in Zero to One that monopoly, not competition, drives innovation. He has pursued and benefited from precisely this model: Palantir’s government contracts are frequently awarded without competitive bidding. In December 2025, the UK Ministry of Defence granted Palantir a £240 million contract by direct award, without competition from British firms.
A libertarian believes in the separation of economic and political power. Thiel has systematically merged the two, mentoring and funding political candidates who then steer government contracts to his companies. Over a dozen Thiel allies and former employees now hold positions in the executive branch that directly or indirectly influence procurement decisions affecting Thiel’s portfolio.
A libertarian is suspicious of nationalism and protectionism. Thiel has called for a “drastic reset” of economic relations with China framed in explicitly geopolitical terms, endorsed immigration enforcement through state surveillance technology, and financially supported immigration hardliners.
A libertarian defends constitutional democracy as a safeguard of individual rights, even while acknowledging its flaws. Thiel has stated flatly that freedom and democracy are incompatible, and by 2023, told The Atlantic that he had “lost interest in democracy” altogether.
Brilliant eccentric
For years, those of us of a classical liberal persuasion could dismiss Thiel as merely a rich and brilliant eccentric who really was libertarian. Now, it seems too easy to make the argument that he never was libertarian, but elitist, chauvenist and more than a little disturbed. (I haven’t even touched on his apocalyptic obsession with the Antichrist, which in a lesser mortal might be read as a symptom of schizoid paranoia.)
But claiming that Thiel was never a true libertarian would be dishonest. Thiel was thoroughly libertarian. He read libertarian books, funded libertarian institutions, attended libertarian conferences, and propounded libertarian arguments.
His 2009 essay was a manifesto of libertarian disillusion with democracy, published by the Cato Institute, the flagship of American libertarian thought. His early ventures were animated by recognisably libertarian aspirations.
The harder question is what made libertarian ideas so easy to shed when power beckoned.
Part of the answer lies in a flaw within a certain strain of libertarian thinking that confuses the freedom of the exceptional individual with freedom as such. If you believe, as Thiel came to believe, that progress depends on a handful of visionary founders unconstrained by democratic accountability, then the logical endpoint is not a free society but an oligarchy – rule by the technical elite, insulated from the interests of the rest of us.
This is Thiel’s Nietzschean turn: the Übermensch, strutting Silicon Valley’s boulevards in a Patagonia puffer jacket.
Classical liberalism rejects this kind of elitism. In particular, an anarcho-capitalist society in which private property rights mediate all human interactions is not consistent with equal rights for all people.
The only thing Thiel’s style of libertarianism would prove is that wealthy Westerners are capable of governing themselves in enclaves that exclude everyone else (as I wrote many years ago).
Liberty is not a reward for genius. It is the birthright of every individual, grounded in the equal dignity of all people.
The freedoms of speech, contract, movement, and conscience do not exist to empower billionaires to build surveillance empires and support military superpowers. They exist because coercion is wrong – whether it is exercised by a king, a parliament, or a PayPal co-founder with friends in high places.
Corrupted vision
In Tolkien’s fiction, the palantíri were corrupted instruments. Those who gazed into them believed they saw clearly, but the stones showed only what served the purposes of the Dark Lord. The user, convinced of his own sovereignty, became an unwitting instrument of domination.
Peter Thiel named his company well, even if the irony was unintentional.
He began his career by trying to escape politics. He has ended up more entangled in state power than perhaps any private citizen in modern American history. His companies profit from the expansion of government. His partners and protégés sit at the right hand of the American president. His surveillance tools track the movements of the vulnerable on behalf of the powerful.
Those of us who still believe in individual liberty, limited government, and the rule of law owe it to ourselves to say clearly: this is not what we stand for.
Peter Thiel’s journey from libertarian idealist to architect of techno-authoritarian state capitalism is not the fulfilment of libertarian ideas. It is their betrayal.
The question now is whether the broader libertarian movement will have the courage to say so – or whether it will remain silent, seduced by proximity to power, and prove Thiel’s darkest thesis and its implication correct: that freedom and democracy really are incompatible, and that libertarianism really only serves the rich.
I have always believed that if libertarians cannot demonstrate that economic freedom serves the best interests of everyone, including the poor and the marginalised, then the term “liberty” is just a fig leaf for plutocratic authoritarianism.
And that would be a terrible shame. You can’t impose free-market capitalism by empowering an imperial government. The only way to achieve it is to convince a substantial majority of the population that economic freedom is best for them.
[Image: Peter Thiel, imagined as Saruman the White from the Peter Jackson films of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. ChatGPT 4.2.]
The views of the writer are not necessarily the views of the Daily Friend or the IRR.
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