The increasing influence of Silicon Valley on governance models represents a significant, and potentially extremely disruptive, trend in contemporary political thought.

The symbiotic relationship between Capital (especially Silicon Valley billionaires) and political elite is no secret, but recent developments of how the richest man in the world very quickly got the keys to American bureaucratic institutions brought to the forefront growing concerns about tech leaders leveraging the current US administration to advance their own agendas, a notion that aligns with broader anxieties regarding the tech industry’s growing political power.

These concerns are amplified by the emergence of novel governance concepts championed by prominent figures within the tech elite. Concepts like network states, cryptocurrency-based societies, and privately governed cities suggest a desire to fundamentally reimagine traditional models of governance, some of which are inherently, if not explicitly, anti-democratic.

Billionaires such as Peter Thiel, Elon Musk, and Balaji Srinivasan are at the forefront of this movement, often motivated by a perceived decline of the American Empire and a belief that societal transformation, rather than reform, is necessary. Srinivasan, in particular, has articulated a detailed vision of “network states,” decentralized virtual communities that ultimately acquire physical territory and function as sovereign nations, governed along corporate lines. Even though such a vision might sound like it belongs in the realm of an improbable sci-fi cyberpunk future, given the current spectacle of American politics, it’s not beyond reason to think of these ideas as serious theoretical frameworks for ambitious undertaking upending the nature of democratic governance as we know it.

Srinivasan “Network State” vision, while seemingly novel, echoes earlier, albeit more dystopian, concepts like Curtis Yarvin’s “Patchwork.” Yarvin, also known as Mencius Moldbug, proposed a system of small, corporate-run sovereign territories, or “patches,” prioritizing efficiency and control, potentially through technologies like biometric surveillance. While controversial, Yarvin’s ideas have demonstrably influenced people like Thiel.

The practical application of these concepts can be seen in projects like Praxis, a Thiel-backed initiative aiming to establish a global corporate governance model utilizing cryptocurrency. Similar projects, such as Prospera in Honduras and Afropolitan in Africa, further illustrate this trend. While proponents often frame these ventures as promoting freedom and innovation, critics raise what I believe to be very legitimate concerns about the potential for corporate authoritarianism, citing the use of surveillance technologies, exclusionary practices, and the focus on land acquisition.

The connections between these initiatives and key figures in the current American administration are surprisingly apparent. For example, current US vice president JD Vance has publicly engaged with Yarvin’s ideas and is associated with Thiel, suggesting a coordinated effort to reshape governance. Furthermore, the former Trump administration’s proposal for “Freedom Cities” on federal land, with its emphasis on innovation and progress, exhibits a striking resemblance to the Silicon Valley vision for privately governed urban centers.

The growing influence of Big Tech on governance discourse, allowing previously fringe ideas to gain mainstream traction and political currency, raises crucial questions about the future of political systems. While some perceive these developments as a necessary response to outdated governance structures and an eroding trust in democratic institutions, others (myself included) express apprehension about a potential shift towards corporate-led authoritarianism. The fundamental question remains whether this represents a complete overhaul of the American political system, and if so, whether these new models of governance will ultimately prevail. More importantly: how will all of this influence political developments beyond the American Empire?

The very concept of praising the aesthetics of a tool might seem inherently contradictory. After all, when we truly engage with a tool, it ceases to be an object in and of itself. It becomes an extension of our will, a seamless conduit between our intention and the material being shaped. Proficiency in tool use transcends mere observation; it’s about achieving a state of flow where the tool simply disappears, its presence felt only in the effortless execution of the task.

Focus shifts entirely to the interaction between the tool and the material. Are we shaping the wood, or is the wood revealing its true form through our guided touch? This intimate connection overshadows any concern for the tool’s outward appearance. A hammer, for instance, is primarily judged by its weight, balance, and the precision with which it drives a nail. While a pretty hammer might initially catch the eye, its true worth lies in its functionality.

When not in use, tools are typically relegated to utilitarian storage – neatly organized by function, often hidden from view. This practical approach reflects their primary purpose: to serve, not to be admired. Collections, of course, are a notable exception, showcasing tools as artifacts, objects of historical and cultural significance.

Yet, tools undeniably possess aesthetic qualities, albeit of a unique kind. There’s the stark beauty of modern, minimalist designs, prioritizing efficiency and sleekness. But perhaps more profound is the aesthetic of use – the patina of wear patterns, the scratches and dings that tell a story. These marks are not blemishes; they are badges of honor, evidence of a life lived, of countless hours of dedicated work.

Each scratch narrates a specific encounter, a moment of friction, a testament to the tool’s active participation in the world. These unconscious markings, accumulated over time, imbue the tool with a unique character, a tangible history that resonates with us deeply. In our disposable culture, where novelty often trumps longevity, these traces of genuine use become increasingly rare, and therefore, increasingly precious. They remind us of a time when things were made to last, when craftsmanship was valued, and when the marks of use were not seen as imperfections, but as evidence of a life well-lived.