For thousands of years, we have watched as powers were established in palaces, and kings, popes, and statesmen shaped the world in their gilded rooms. Palace-like mansions were spaces that amplified the power of these supreme rulers; their clothing, food, and drink were details that encoded in our minds the notion that "they cannot be like us, ordinary mortals." The difference between ruler and ruler was inevitable, not only in armies and guards, but also in lifestyle and attitude. This was a structural design that dictated the awareness of who and what they were, both to those above and to the masses. The royal or imperial elite viewed their subjects from afar, and any permeability between them and the world of the people was forbidden.

The development of republics and democratic processes from the 19th century onward not only necessitated the ruling elite's engagement with the people, but also created a channel of communication between ordinary mortals and palaces. The shift from gilded palaces to unadorned, grand buildings envisioned, on the one hand, a sense of power felt by the people, and, on the other, the reinforcement of a sense of power without ostentation. While former palaces were used as administrative buildings in some countries, political representatives of the ruling power resided in their own homes, preferring to emphasize the nobility of their work rather than their individual existence.

The 20th century was a century of global wars and destruction. The people's submission to a sublime ideology, rather than a supreme government, was paramount. The impunity of leaders stemmed not from their locations, but from the ideas they represented. It was a time of war; there were enemies, and "unquestioning obedience" was the fundamental characteristic of the relationship between the people and the government. The "famous globalization" period, when wars and ideologies were shelved, marked the end of the 20th century, a period in which the perception of nobility gradually spread to non-state actors: economic actors through corporations and financial institutions whose size was close to the state budget. Those in power had shed their gold-embroidered caftans, donned suits with ties and jackets produced by the most luxurious brands, and moved into buildings and offices adorned with luxurious designs that, while not adorned with gold, were more expensive than gold. Against the giant state buildings, corporations now soared to the skies, symbolically underscoring their boundlessness and limitlessness with their spatial designs. The global world was now their playground. State borders no longer bound them. National political powers depended on their support for their survival. Indeed, they exploited their geographical freedom to determine power throughout the world and made a significant investment in the construction of the global village.

It was not entirely unforeseen that the ancient state apparatus would somehow shift to protecting itself against the rise and influence of global financial actors. With the three separate global crises we have experienced since the beginning of the 21st century, the world has witnessed the return of the state, that is, the myth. The 9/11 attack was a matter of military security; the 2008-2009 financial crisis became a matter of economic security; and the 2019-2021 pandemic became a matter of biopolitical security. In each of these, humanity depended on state intervention for survival, and non-state actors, believing themselves powerful, encountered the real world. State centers began to perceive the globalization process as an existential threat. The so-called open society, the rhetoric of rights and freedoms, the winds of democratization and liberalization suddenly slowed. As borders began to be built with walls around the world, populist right-wing movements and ideologies that sanctified the state began to rise to the forefront. We were no longer talking about freedom but security, not individualism but statism, not privatization but nationalization. Then…

It's clear that we are facing a situation we've never known before. The new power of our age isn't defined by kings, prime ministers, or generals. Techno-oligarchs, or "techno-feudals," as Varoufakis calls them, are constructing a new toxic power that can penetrate the most remote corners of our lives, manipulate us, shape our economic behavior, political attitudes, and our holistic view of the world. Unlike previous forms of power, the lords of the digital age covet not our bodies but the contents of our minds. Our minds are no longer our preserve. Our good and our bad, our rights and wrongs are presented to us in molds. Shoshana Zuboff has called this “the colonization of human psychology.”

What we call the modern economy is entering a period that will culminate in the techno-medieval era. Large platforms have turned users into serfs, bought and sold along with their data; data estates resemble estates that lords can cultivate and harvest as they please. While governments are striving to build systems to access this data with all their might, governments have borders, while governments don't; politicians are accountable, while governments negotiate; political power relies on the public's support, while governments rely solely on the flow of data.

The struggle between limitlessness and limitation will become even more pronounced in the coming period. Underhanded attacks like the Epstein case demonstrate the immense power wielded by those who possess data. A great clash is about to begin between two authoritarian powers seeking to control everything, against those who know everything about us. While the contenders for that invisible throne, who aspire to rule the world, may lack legitimacy, their power is limitless. Hobbes's true Leviathan is about to be built. Are we ready to fight our Big Brother, or love him?