I recently read “Caspar D. Luckinbill, What Are You Going to Do? for an English assignment (I absolutely adore my English teacher). After my first pass, I gathered with my friends. “I hated it,” was everyone’s first impression. It read like a series of random, very absurd events (people screaming?? a woman is now sobbing??? people dying??). It was so bizarre I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, but there was no apparent plot: the events seemed to blur into each other and there was no coherent passage of time. By the end of it, I felt simultaneously like both centuries and no time at all had passed. Funnily enough, it felt strangely similar to watching a bad movie (most notably the Minecraft Movie), or maybe scrolling through an endless stream of short-form media, where one dramatic moment replaces another.
But as we delved deeper, we completely forgot about our initial perception of the text. Instead, we saw so much of our own lives reflected in it. Although completely absurd at first, the story started to resemble the media environment we live in with constant noise, events, and observation.
I have grown to fall in love with this short story, and I think this satire hits on so many of the concerns I have with modern-day media consumption that I think more people should be aware of. It may as well be the best short story I’ve ever read. If you haven’t read it, you can read it for free here: https://www.wired.com/story/nick-wolven-short-story/. It’s quite a short read but definitely worth it.
This article is less of an analysis of the short story and more of a reflection onto our own lives (so it’s okay if you haven’t read it yet!), and I hope you enjoy it.
A digital panopticon.
The Panopticon, designed by Jeremy Bentham, is a prison where one guard is positioned in a tower made of one-way-glass, surrounded by a ring of inmates. The prisoners are trapped by their own self regulation and fear of punishment. They never know when they’re being observed. Throughout history, this principle has extended not only from a prison but to factories, schools, and society as a whole. We’re constantly abiding by the rules and laws an institution sets, even without constant observation. Regardless, the amount of surveillance is bounded by our mortal limitations: cameras must be hung up and put into place, people must be paid to watch over us. We’ve normalized this society and deemed these laws as necessary: we’ve traded a certain amount of our privacy for security. After all, who would want to live in a society filled with crime?
However, in our modern-day society, these limitations are completely removed: screens are everywhere, constantly collecting data about our online activity, creating a panopticon-like effect. If the government, for example, is suspicious that someone is building a bomb, they no longer have to check cameras: they can simply track every purchase they’ve made. We constantly give up more of our freedom little by little (further enabled through the rise of AI and facial recognition technology), and we’re almost oblivious to the changes happening around us. Now, we don’t think twice about apps that store our name, email address, browsing history, or even location. We are living in a complete surveillance state (which was first a trade of freedom for security), but we now give up freedom for… what? personalization? comfort? being able to use an app? The guards aren’t humans anymore, but algorithms upon algorithms, and we’re trapped.
Caspar D. Luckinbill, What Are You Going to Do perpetuates this cycle, and every aspect of Caspar’s life is literally surrounded by floor-to-ceiling screens. He gives up so much of his freedom for mere convenience: for a system to know his coffee preferences, or, to quote, be able to “point at any surface in my (his) home… and turn it into a full-spectrum screen.”
Technofeudalism.
This new and established “surveillance state” is turning our previously capitalist society into a technofeudalist one. Feudalism (the root of the word) is a political/socioeconomic system based on reciprocal loyalty and service: vassals would pledge allegiance to monarchs, who owned large plots of land, exchanging their labor and military service for food, a home, and protection. Our world, since then, shifted to something more capitalist, with a free-flowing economy. Everybody has the ability to gain or lose currency. But according to Yanis Varoufakis, we’re shifting back to a feudal system. Large technology platforms operate like modern feudal lords, controlling digital spaces (that are free to use) with users (who provide value simply by existing). Then comes the common saying: “when you’re not paying for the product, you are the product” — we give up our data and sovereignty to exist in these spaces. Caspar does not engage in a purely capitalist society; instead, it is quite apparent that he has no freedom to choose his actions, and the screens around him dictate his own actions.
It is worth noting that technofeudalism is not an idea entirely separate from capitalism, but the inevitable result of it, and they continue to fuel each other: companies that make more money can then, in turn, have more power and increase the presence of their “digital spaces.” In Caspar’s world, this cycle has skyrocketed: every room in people’s homes is literally covered floor-to-ceiling in Ubervision screens (similar to how our world is surrounded by people’s “Apple ecosystems”).
Throughout history, the level of control an institution has over our own lives has developed: we were first controlled through mass psychology with propaganda, then controlled at the level of the individual (in institutions like churches or schools). But now, we’re controlled at a level even smaller than the individual. In our world, we’re just a collection of statistics (like our shopping tendencies, what videos we would click on, etc.).
In Caspar’s world, this is further exemplified, and screens, quite literally, are everywhere. He cannot distance himself from screens and constant surveillance, and there is no distinction between the physical world and the digital. Personalized ads literally follow him around. While less extreme, we can see traces of this reality in our world: companies take our data to personalize each and every experience we have.
All of Caspar’s enclosures have started to blend into one. There is no difference between his work and home: he consumes the same content in either space. This is similar to the shift we’ve seen in our own lives. We’ve transitioned from distinct “work” and “family” times to constantly crossing these spaces (because of technology — your boss is now able to contact you about work even at home). This actually emphasizes the feeling of the panopticon: We’re trapped by the notion that we constantly have to be optimizing our own lives, whether it be while doing work or consuming content, and this in itself is restricting. The personalization and streamlined nature of the systems around us and Caspar’s lives reflect this ideology, and we never have time to think through the media we consume.
When all these services claim to be “free,” what is actually being used as currency is our data. The more attention something captures, the more valuable it becomes, regardless of whether the content is actually meaningful. We can see this in Caspar’s world, filled with bright, flashing screens all around him, but also in ours: our own media is constantly filled with clickbait and “meaningless junk” because it often procures the biggest reaction.
Media culture.
(I dislike this part of the analysis because I feel that it is relatively shallow, but I do think it’s super important to underscore).
Like Caspar’s screaming alerts, we experience endless notifications that demand our attention. Forms of media surround us constantly, and our constant exposure to endless feeds can leave us anxious, desensitized, and helpless.
I also think we overestimate how much our likes and clicks matter. When Caspar finally breaks free of media terrorism, he broadcasts and shares his experience for the world to see. But, even when it does, nothing changes: people are aware but they can’t do anything about it (like our own lives!!). These companies aren’t in place because they want our action, they want money and data.
The cycle.
Even after Caspar knows he is the victim of media terrorism, he still decides to buy Ubervision TVs, like how we continue using apps or services that feed into harmful systems. We all have mobility — all these tiny decisions we make about whether they give up their security makes an impact when done collectively, but Caspar still gets the TVs anyway.
This story forces us to reflect how abnormal socities like these are, but we are constantly desensitized to this ever-changing system that takes more and more of our privacy (which is never returned). Constant media attention fosters self focus and passive observation, and our desire for self interest feeds the system. Every single time our privacy has been infringed upon, we are horrified (and then turn to communities to complain about it), overwhelmed, even, but then we rebrand and move on.
Suddenly, the strange pacing of the story I had initially disliked resembled our own media culture, and I’ve come to realize that our initial confusion might actually be the point. It’s meant to be chaotic, shocking, and dramatic, with constant stimulation because that’s what keeps people reading in our modern-day society. In that aspect, the story does much more than describe a world of digital surveillance and constant media consumption, it lets us live inside of it.
Even though we think our own society is “normal,” Caspar’s society could very well be where we’re headed within the next decade.
note: i know there are em dashes i use em dashes on a daily basis i promise i am not ai please be okay with that :)