Before our capitalist system, there was a time of feudal lords and serfs. A small elite—the feudal lords—controlled the land, wealth, and power, while the majority—the serfs—lived in profound dependence, working on the lord’s lands. Their lives were shaped by the whims of those who commanded them.
Their purpose? Servitude. And would they, for whatever reason, fall out of favor with the elite?
Then, they had a big problem: it could mean the end of their lives. But times changed. Humanity moved toward a different system that offered the majority more opportunities and mobility.
Looking at the persisting exploitation and vast inequality, we notice that capitalism doesn’t come without flaws. Most people survive by exchanging their time and labor for wages, while capitalists profit from their work. Still, compared to feudalism, capitalism provides more personal freedom.
To an extent, we can shape our lives instead of being condemned to servitude. However, according to some, capitalism as we know it has been dying a slow death. Instead of moving toward a better system (as the serfs did before us), we’ve fallen into something worse—much worse, at least, according to Yanis Varoufakis, who lays out his analysis in his book Technofeudalism: What Killed Capitalism.
So, what is technofeudalism? How does it affect us? And why is it important to talk about it?
Fear not; I’ll keep the economics talk as short and straightforward as possible. For a more detailed overview of the economics and history of technofeudalism, I’d recommend reading Varoufakis’ book. I’m more interested in what technofeudalism (if it’s truly taking shape) means for ordinary people like you and me.
How does it impact things like freedom, self-reliance, or mental health? What about our working conditions, privacy, and the gap between poor and rich? And how do we deal with all of this?
Making this video aroused mixed feelings—not because I disliked the topic (it’s fascinating), but it’s also pretty unsettling. I’ll reflect on this a bit at the end. Let’s explore technofeudalism and what it means for our lives and overall well-being.
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Back in the feudal ages, if you wanted to make a living, you had to produce your own means of survival—primarily food. But to grow food, you needed land. And land wasn’t something you could simply buy.
It wasn’t a commodity in the modern sense. Instead, it was controlled by the nobility and passed down through inheritance, conquest, or royal decree. This rigid system meant that those who didn’t own land, the peasants, had no other outlook than to work as serfs on the land of the feudal lords.
I quote: During the feudal era, which became properly entrenched across Europe in the twelfth century, economic life involved no economic choices. If you were born into the landed gentry, it would never cross your mind to sell your ancestors’ land. And if you were born a serf, you were compelled to toil the land, on the landowner’s behalf, free of any illusion that, one day, you might own land yourself.
End quote. The feudal lords didn’t work—the serfs did all the labor, keeping some of their produce while handing the rest to the lord or his vassals. This tribute typically included grain, meat, vegetables, and other goods produced on the land.
So, the serfs were bound to the land, as they economically depended entirely on the feudal lord. Now, isn’t it silly to compare today’s economic circumstances to those of the feudal age? Just look around.
We own houses, run businesses, and get a salary in exchange for our labor. Your boss may be a prick, but by all means, he’s not a feudal lord squeezing you for grain while you toil on land you can never own, utterly dependent on his whims. And yet, beneath the surface, a shift has taken place.
Today, many people already work in conditions that don’t involve a boss or manager but something else: a system or platform that gives people access to work under their conditions and rules, which includes that you hand over a percentage of your earnings to these platforms. More often than not, these platforms let you decide when and how many hours you work, and the nasty middle manager bossing you around and breathing down your neck the whole day isn’t part of the equation anymore. Take YouTube, for example.
When you’re in the partnership program, you’ll earn money from advertisements. As of today, 55% of your channel’s revenue goes to you as the creator and 45% goes to YouTube. As long as you stay within the guidelines, you have creative freedom, and if you get lots of views consistently, you could even turn YouTube into a full-time job.
This sounds pretty good, doesn’t it? For many, including myself, it’s a massive opportunity to monetize creativity. I owe a lot to this platform, so I’m grateful: this channel wouldn’t exist without it.
But the good stuff aside, Varoufakis would say that this arrangement I have with YouTube is, in fact, an example of technofeudalism, which makes me, well, a serf. See, YouTube itself doesn’t create content, except for some instructional and informational videos about the platform. The vast, vast majority of the content is created by its users.
So, its main product isn’t made by YouTube itself. Unlike Ford, for example, which manufactures its own products (cars), YouTube relies entirely on user-generated content. Thus, YouTube provides the platform, while creators do the work and share a portion of their revenue with YouTube—what Yanis Varoufakis calls “cloud rent.
” In other words, creators rent a digital space on YouTube, paying for it with a cut of their earnings. So, Varoufakis points out that this cut is essentially no different from the portion of produce that the serfs paid to their lords. But there’s more.
Let’s look at another super platform, owned by a guy who likes yachts, so much so that he bought one worth 500 million dollars. Long live capitalism, right? Varoufakis would correct me and say: “It’s not capitalism, it’s technofeudalism what we’re seeing here.
” From the technofeudalist perspective, Jeff Bezos is the quintessential ‘technofeudal lord,’ which I’ll illustrate right now. Amazon is a giant online store with millions of sellers. It offers almost any product available in retail.
However, Amazon doesn’t produce much itself. Like YouTube, it provides a platform, but this one mediates between buyers and sellers. These buyers and sellers pay Amazon fees in various forms in exchange for using the platform.
Amazon overwhelmingly dominates the e-commerce landscape. Consider their Kindle e-book service, for example. Currently, Kindle e-books make up 83% of sales in the United States and 68% worldwide.
For many independent publishers, book sales rely heavily on Amazon. I’m no different—my books are also sold there, making me largely dependent on the platform. Again, I’m thankful for the opportunity, but there’s also a downside to allowing my livelihood to hinge on this tech giant.
If Amazon were to suspend my account or stop showing my books in the listings, my chances of selling my books will dramatically reduce. Also, I’ve no voice regarding whatever happens on the platform. There’s no democracy within Big Tech.
They make the rules, set the policies, and design the algorithms that decide which products and content get seen — and which get buried. My book store isn’t mine: it’s just a space I rent from Jeff, which he can take back whenever he wants. Facebook recently removed my page without providing a reason.
I had no say in this as I didn’t own the page. But still, you may think: “How do you compare these platforms, these companies like Amazon, YouTube, or Facebook to the estates of medieval feudal lords? Isn’t that a whole different game?
” According to Varoufakis, the essence is the same. Technofeudalism isn’t about land; it’s about cloud space. And the feudalists in a technofeudal society are, therefore, “cloudalists.
” But still, aren’t land and cloud space two entirely different things? Varoufakis compares the early Internet to the medieval commons—land no one truly owned where peasants could freely grow food. Over time, landlords fenced off these commons for private use, known as the “enclosures,” leaving peasants dependent on the landlords to access land and making a living.
Now, like these landlords enclosed the common lands, Big Tech enclosed the internet. As the early internet consisted of numerous independent spaces, like your auntie’s recipe website or the old Final Fantasy online internet forums, I used hang out as a teen, Big Tech turned it into giant enclosures, owned by powerful platforms, home to millions of technofeudal serfs, sustained by the low-wage workers, Varoufakis calls ‘cloud proles. ’ According to Varoufakis, the shift from capitalism to technofeudalism has many consequences, not just for how we work or conduct business but also for our lives in general.
Suppose we go along with this whole concept of technofeudalism: What are the effects of this system? What do our lives look like within a technofeudalist society? Let’s start with the individuals earning their livelihoods through today’s online platforms.
Imagine you’re a driver. You’ve been driving for years for several taxi companies and as a private chauffeur, and you’re pretty good at it. Now imagine that, at some point, the only way to make a living using your skills is through specific online platforms.
Moreover, using these platforms means giving them a share of your earnings. You’re essentially paying rent to work. The platform owners don’t drive themselves.
They sit back and watch those forced to use their platform generate income for them, making them incredibly rich. For many drivers, what I just described is a reality, as they’re working for such platforms, and, often, their livelihoods depend on it. A well-known example is Uber, where people use their private cars to transport people.
Both driver and client use the same platform, which serves as a mediator, and takes a share of the driver’s earnings. The key difference between working for a traditional taxi company and working for Uber is that, with Uber, you’re managed not by a boss, but by an algorithm — the same goes for YouTube creators and Amazon sellers. Sure, the algorithm doesn’t nag or whine like some bosses and managers, but dealing with such an impersonal force, which operates on behalf of the technofeudal overlord, has drawbacks.
Consider the stories of those driving for Uber and similar apps, as reported in The Guardian. One anonymous driver calls working for the algorithm an “absolute nightmare. ” Their pay fluctuates constantly, as does job availability—even when demand is high, the system sometimes claims there’s no work.
And since everything is automated, there’s no one to ask why. Working as a serf for platforms like Uber doesn’t make you an employee—you’re just a user renting space in their cloud capital to earn money. If they want you gone, they don’t need to follow labor laws; they can simply suspend your account.
Usually, when you get terminated as an employee, you just find another job. But if your livelihood is driving to transport people or delivering food, and you’re banned from one of these platforms, your chances of making an income with your labor vastly reduce. For example, platforms like Grab and Gojek have monopolized the motorcycle taxi business in several Southeast Asian countries.
Those banned from these platforms are pretty much out of options — or, as Gen Z would say, they’re “cooked. ” But, I hear you think, there must be a good reason to ban someone from these platforms, if the consequences are so drastic. Not really.
Many drivers have been banned without explanation or for trivial reasons, like a slightly longer wait time. And, again, there’s no one to talk to. Regaining access to the platform is sometimes possible, but from what I’ve heard, the process is nothing short of Kafkaesque.
I experienced the same when Facebook banned my page—there was no one to talk to and no clear way to appeal. As platforms expand, we may soon have no alternative but to work for them. Many shops already largely depend on platforms like Amazon, eBay, or Temu, which turn them into serfs rather than independent sellers.
Without these platforms, they’re practically invisible to customers, who prefer to buy there because of their reliability, logistics, and other perks. Now, imagine if every industry becomes absorbed into digital enclosures… What happens to our autonomy? From an existentialist perspective, if our survival depends entirely on obeying algorithms all day, are we still individual subjects with agency—or merely objects being utilized?
If platforms set the terms of our lives, can we truly consider ourselves free, thus, free to shape meaningful lives and live authentically? Or are we trapped in an “essence” like the serfs of the past, which is servitude? And if our default mode of existence involves being a pawn controlled by an algorithm, what does that say about human dignity?
Now that we’ve explored the technofeudalist serf, let’s turn to the consumer. After all, the serfs might have it rough, but at least the customers benefit, right? Just consider the convenience, security, and reliability these platforms offer: It’s a blessing compared to how things were before.
But is there a catch? Varoufakis’ work shows a large, ugly monster looming in the shadows, preying on those using these services. If there’s one thing advertisers are masters at, it’s creating desire.
I mean, people usually don’t think of buying two large buckets of Quick n Brite by themselves; it’s because they’ve seen the advertisements on TV that planted this idea, this desire to have this product, in their minds. A good commercial pushes people’s buttons. And if you want to advertise effectively, you make sure your message reaches the right audience.
For example, trying to sell soy milk to someone following a carnivore diet is probably not a good idea. Trying to sell a Tesla to a Buddhist monk won’t be that effective either. So, how does advertising work in a technofeudalist system?
Meet Amazon Alexa, a cute device with an irresistible voice who claims she exists purely to improve your life. Moreover, Alexa invites you to train her. After all, the more she knows about your desires and preferences, the better she can serve you.
But behind Alexa’s helpful facade hides a different reality. Apparently, Alexa keeps voice recordings and user interactions. There have been instances where it recorded private conversations without the user’s knowledge.
It uses the information it collects about you for targeted advertisements and for who knows what other purposes. Amazon Alexa is just an example of how platforms gather user information. Facebook, Instagram, and Google do the same thing.
Google may know more about you than your spouse, especially about what you’re doing when he or she’s not around. We’re exchanging essentially our privacy for access to their services, such as building our social media presence on Instagram or asking Google Assistant to open our curtains in the morning. Have you ever wondered why most social media are free to use?
Is it just Zuckerberg being the benign philanthropist who wants to share his technology freely to improve our lives? Of course not. People putting their whole lives on Facebook makes it a goldmine of information about our tastes, preferences, activities, and so forth.
It’s the perfect marketing tool! We can use Facebook for free because we are the product! Moreover, we perform free labor for the platforms by shaping our social media profiles.
We’re helping them grow, and we’re doing it for free. Varoufakis states: The true revolution cloud capital has inflicted on humanity is the conversion of billions of us into willing cloud serfs volunteering to labour for nothing to reproduce cloud capital for the benefit of its owners. End quote.
According to Varoufakis, the tailored, targeted advertising that floods our devices daily heavily influences our choices. Advertisers don’t just show us products; they manufacture our desires, carefully aligning ads with our identities, latest interests, and vulnerabilities. This isn’t just advertising—it’s advertising on steroids.
Moreover, these techno-feudal structures influence more than what we buy; they also control the information we receive and, thus, how we think and act. Because these platforms know us so well, their algorithms know which content will likely engage us and keep us on the platform. It seems a nice idea that we only get to see things we’re interested in.
But it also leads to a very distorted image of reality. For example, if you have particular political views, you’ll see not just content related to these views but also what generally makes your blood boil. Rage bait gets clicks; the algorithms know that very well.
If you hate, let’s say, people pooping in the streets, you can be sure that the algorithm floods you with content about such people, eventually leading you to believe someone is defecating in every alley and on every street corner. Aside from a distorted reality, this hyper selective information consumption can also lead to the formation of echo chambers, which often breeds radicalization, and, in some cases, violence. Controlling the information means influencing people’s thoughts, which determines people’s actions.
If you want to influence elections, for example, controlling the information is key, which is what the Nazis knew very well back then. The danger of technofeudalism is that the tiny elite that governs the cloud capital, controls the information supply in ways Joseph Goebbels could only dream of. It’s no coincidence that Musk bought Twitter—he recognizes the immense influence that comes with controlling this piece of the cloud capital.
So, now that we understand how much Big Tech influences our behavior and thinking, we could ask ourselves: To what extent are our choices our own? There’s more to technofeudalism than the basics I covered in this video, such as its global impact and how it’s leading us into a new Cold War. I also didn’t dive deep into capitalism, which, according to Varoufakis’ perspective, gave birth to technofeudalism.
You’ll find these things and more in the book Technofeudalism: What Killed Capitalism. As mentioned in the introduction, I made this video with mixed feelings. Considering today’s global affairs, this video feels like throwing another piece of doom and gloom on the trash heap, so I wonder if it benefits my audience.
At the same time, I think it’s an important subject, as it concerns pretty much everyone. So, I want to end this essay by considering how to deal with these changing circumstances. In his book, Varoufakis proposes overthrowing the feudal lords, and creating a democratized system, in which we collectively own and govern the cloud spaces.
While I’m all for that, there’s no guarantee this will happen. Moreover, with prominent cloudalists having political influence at the highest levels, including Donald Trump, their path to further bolstering technofeudalism is wide open. So, what can we do?
Epictetus emphasized that we always have a choice, which is the only thing we truly own and, therefore, something we should cherish and protect. This means they can influence our choices, but we can stay outside their reach as much as possible. They can offer tempting products and services, but we can refuse.
They can prey on our data, but we can guard our privacy. They may own our means to make a living, but we can rely on them only as much as needed. Cultivating qualities such as minimalism, frugality, and awareness may help avoid getting too entangled in a structure that essentially relies on our participation.
The less we need them, the less they own us. If technofeudalism keeps unfolding, having some independence purchased by the qualities mentioned is better than none. It’s worth fighting for.
Thank you for watching.
