This book is my first serious attempt at non-fiction writing. In the past, I wrote three fiction novels that my editor bluntly labeled as “unreadable”.
But like the resilient Byzantines who rebuilt Constantinople after its brutal sack by Crusaders in 1204, I keep trying and growing. Realizing that fiction’s complexities might not be for me (yet), I’ve turned to my strengths: technology and history.
There will be a lot of those historical references.
This shift sparked an idea to compare ancient empires, from Sumer to Austria-Hungary, with modern tech giants. The business daily Handelsblatt summarizes our current digital landscape accurately:
“Google knows more about you and me than the KGB, Stasi or Gestapo ever dreamed of. Naturally the comparison is absurd, but if Google is some kind of Big Brother, then it is totalitarianism of a sweet, soft kind. This Big Brother doesn’t want to do anything evil, just help us. And help itself – by throwing all of this collected data onto the market.”
This book isn’t an attempt to attack big tech. In fact, I like these companies quite a lot. They’re like the East India Company of the 18th century—deeply influential, often beneficial, yet wielding power that makes one pause.
Historically, all empires had a simple check on overreach—populace resistance. When Louis XVI almost bankrupted France due to funding the American Revolution and his court’s lavish spending, the people, driven by empty stomachs and pamphlets, stormed the Bastille.
It was their version of a one-star app review, but with more urgency.
But how do we resist an app? You can’t guillotine a corporation… And, even if you could, barbaric methods of conflict resolution should be left to the ancient times.
If a beloved tech product turns sinister, do you fight by smashing your phone? Leaving a scathing review?
In ancient times, the dynamics were clearer. Easter Islanders, or Rapa Nui, obsessively carved Moai statues, depleting their forests. But without trees for boats, isolated by distance and natural disasters like the Little Ice Age, their resource-driven society collapsed.
Today’s tech firms still consume resources for electricity, but unlike the Rapa Nui who traded wood for status symbols, they extract something far more precious—user data.
Never have empires amassed so much information about their subjects… as we willingly provide this access because the alternative seems to be digital and physical isolation.
Daily, I’m indifferent to how much data a company collects about me. But zooming out, these tech firms resemble digital empires, integrated into modern superpowers.
It makes me wonder: is there a pattern to these digital empires’ potential downfall? Can history offer insights? How close are they to the Dutch East India Company that got too big, too fast, too corrupt, too mismanaged—poof—gone in 1799.
Are we living in a vast, market-driven bubble where imperialism is fueled by data trading and no central base of operations? Consider the Hanseatic League, a network of merchant guilds that dominated Northern European trade from the 13th to 17th centuries. They had no capital, no territory—just information. Knowing what was selling where gave them power over kings. Today’s tech giants, with server farms scattered globally, mirror this decentralized empire, their strength lying not in physical domains but in the data they harvest and trade.
In the 19th century, the British used opium to subdue China. Today, it’s algorithms engineered for addiction. Digital products ‘bombard’ us with dopamine-triggering notifications until we’ve surrendered our attention. Just as opium sedated a nation, today’s algorithms are finely tuned to keep us scrolling, swiping, and sharing.
Perhaps these comfortable addictions to digital products, on which I rely myself, have created empires that transcend the ability to collapse. As long as our digital “circuses”—be it Instagram’s endless feed or YouTube’s autoplay—keep us satiated, these empires might evade the historical pattern of rise and fall. We’re too engrossed in our digital coliseums to storm any Bastilles.
Also, by examining ancient civilizations rather than focusing on modernity, it becomes more comfortable for me to write. Many global powers view history lessons as tools of cultural propaganda, and attempts to decode it can be seen as attacks on current regimes. To the point, where I’m not comfortable providing recent references.
This is why I’m steering clear of recent history, using the safe distance of ancient empires to examine today’s digital dynasties.
One-Sentence Summary
“Empires Beyond Collapse” draws parallels between the fall of ancient empires and the decline of modern tech giants, inviting readers to ponder whether today’s digital behemoths have truly overcome the historical patterns of collapse.
Book Synopsis
In the early 5th century, a Roman legionary stands watch over a flickering campfire, his thoughts interrupted by the distant sound of approaching footsteps. He turns to see a shadowy figure emerge from the darkness—his comrade, clutching a scroll. “It’s a message from the Emperor,” the comrade whispers, “the Visigoths are upon us.” As the camp descends into chaos, the legionary realizes that their once-mighty Empire is on the brink of collapse, much like Carthage centuries before. The sacking of Rome in 410 AD by Alaric is not just a military defeat but a symbol of an empire crumbling under its own weight—dwindling tax revenues, thinning legion ranks, and economic turmoil.
If Julius Caesar had access to modern tools of surveillance and control, his grip on power might have lasted beyond the historical confines. Imagine if instead of military conquest, the Roman Empire expanded through digital dominance. No need for the brutal suppression of the Gallic revolt—instead, every Gaul’s communication would be monitored, every dissenting thought flagged. Caesar’s spies, armed with data from a vast network like PRISM or Echelon, could pinpoint troublemakers with the precision of drone strikes, rather than resorting to the mass enslavement that followed his victory at Alesia.
Today, tech giants wield immense influence over our digital lives, driven by the pursuit of market share and user metrics. Their algorithms exploit human desires and insecurities with computational precision, surpassing the capabilities of ancient despots. Unlike figurehead rulers of old empires, tech giants are malleable and decentralized, resembling the Byzantine bureaucracy more than the Western Roman Empire. Their dominance is sustained through consumer choice and market dynamics—a soft power that would have intrigued Machiavelli.
The fall of a digital empire is not as dramatic as the violent end of ancient civilizations. It has no single keeps or legislative chambers to capture, no aqueducts to sever. Its resilience recalls the Parthian Empire, whose decentralized structure allowed it to absorb invasions. Tech giants operate in a realm of infinite data, consuming vast amounts of energy to harvest our digital lives into a new commodity. Our identities, behaviors, and connections are repackaged into profiles, creating a data-driven empire that dwarfs even the most ambitious colonial ventures.
Digital empires wield the ability to influence and addict on a global scale, much like the British East India Company’s opium trade in 19th-century China. Success is measured in financial valuation on the stock market, not territorial control or intellectual legacies. As we marvel at tech’s progress, we may be unknowingly sacrificing something profoundly human, just as the Aztecs sacrificed their own people to appease gods they believed granted them power.
“Empires Beyond Collapse” draws parallels between ancient civilizations and modern superpowers repeating oppressive patterns with new tools. In our digital age, tech corporations shape society and control narratives, allowing governments to focus on harder forms of power. The similarities between ancient regimes and big tech are examined through the lenses of the Tragedy of the Commons, Enshittification, and Progress Paralysis.
History teaches that unchecked authority can be dismantled through uprising or military defeat. But how does one depose a power existing primarily in code and cloud servers, influencing billions through algorithms? It’s a far cry from the visible fall of ancient regimes—cities besieged, royal lines extinguished. A digital downfall may be far more insidious—a quiet rot of once-vibrant societies, democracy eroding bit by bit, without a single shot fired, much like how the Byzantine Empire gradually faded through a series of slow, almost imperceptible declines.
