When I finished reading Sapiens, I thought I had stumbled upon something truly profound. A masterwork that peeled back the gilded layers of humanity’s self-perception to reveal the fragile scaffolding beneath. The book explored why we’re here, how we’ve survived, and, dare I say, whether any of it was ever meant to matter. It was breathtaking. Enlightening. But apparently, not for everyone.
Out of curiosity, I turned to Goodreads to gauge the collective verdict. Surely, a book of this magnitude would unite readers in awe? Alas, I was mistaken. While many sang its praises, others wielded their reviews like cudgels, attacking not just the book but Harari himself.
but why?
Zionist. Nihilist. Arrogant.
These labels—hurled with the venom of those clutching their belief systems for dear life—flooded forums and social media. The “Zionist” accusation was almost laughable in its irrelevance. Was Harari’s historical analysis tainted by a geopolitical agenda, or was this simply an easy way to discredit him without engaging with his ideas?
The “nihilist” charge, however, is more nuanced. Harari’s claim that much of human history is built on shared myths—religion, capitalism, even nationhood—cuts deep. To those who’ve anchored their identities to these constructs, his words feel less like analysis and more like an attack. But is it nihilism to suggest that our collective illusions, though invented, have meaning because we give them meaning? Or is that a truth too uncomfortable to bear?
An Offense to the Faith
Let’s speak plainly. In Sapiens, religion takes a thrashing, and for many, that alone is unforgivable. Harari reduces it to a tool of social cohesion, a useful fiction that has served its evolutionary purpose. To the devout, this framing is nothing short of sacrilege.
But Harari does not reserve his scrutiny for religion alone. He is an equal-opportunity dissector, pulling apart every story humans cling to, from divine mandates to democratic ideals. He isn’t attacking faith; he’s contextualizing it. Yet, for readers—particularly those in America, and even more so Christians—this context is a slap in the face.
They do not see an analyst; they see an antagonist.
The Fear of a Mirror; Maybe?
The real issue, I suspect, is not Harari’s ideas but the reflection they force us to confront. He holds up a mirror, and what stares back is disquieting: a species that has built its empires on stories, each as fragile as the next. To admit this is to admit the precariousness of it all.
But isn’t that the point of good literature, of sharp thinking? To unsettle, to provoke, to challenge the scaffolding we cling to? Harari doesn’t stroke egos or whisper reassurances. He yanks the rug, daring you to stand on unsteady ground. M
Nexus
I recently picked up Nexus (a brief history of information networks from Stone Age to AI), Harari’s latest offering, I wonder if it will inspire the same ire. Will it rattle the cages of the faithful? (spoiler, it does) Will it challenge even those of us who believe we read with open minds?
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I’ve learned to embrace discomfort in reading. The kind of discomfort that gnaws at your worldview, that strips away your intellectual armor, leaving you raw and questioning. That’s where growth lies.
If you’ve read Sapiens or are considering Nexus, I have one piece of advice: let go of your biases. Come to the book as a blank slate, ready to wrestle with ideas that might sting or unsettle.
And if a book doesn’t shake you to your core, what’s the point?