Like Oscar Wilde, “I can resist anything except temptation,” and my slow and halting journey to adulthood is really just me grappling with this fact, getting temptation out of my way before I can yield to it.
Behavioral economists have a name for the steps we take to guard against temptation: a “Ulysses pact.” That’s when you take some possibility off the table during a moment of strength in recognition of some coming moment of weakness:
Famously, Ulysses did this before he sailed into the Sea of Sirens. Rather than stopping his ears with wax to prevent his hearing the sirens’ song, which would lure him to his drowning, Ulysses has his sailors tie him to the mast, leaving his ears unplugged. Ulysses became the first person to hear the sirens’ song and live to tell the tale.
Ulysses was strong enough to know that he would someday be weak. He expressed his strength by guarding against his weakness. Our modern lives are filled with less epic versions of the Ulysses pact: the day you go on a diet, it’s a good idea to throw away all your Oreos. That way, when your blood sugar sings its siren song at 2AM, it will be drowned out by the rest of your body’s unwillingness to get dressed, find your keys and drive half an hour to the all-night grocery store.
Note that this Ulysses pact isn’t perfect. You
might drive to the grocery store. It’s rare that a Ulysses pact is unbreakable – we bind ourselves to the mast, but we don’t chain ourselves to it and slap on a pair of handcuffs for good measure.
People who run institutions can – and should – create Ulysses pacts, too. A company that holds the kind of sensitive data that might be subjected to “sneak-and-peek” warrants by cops or spies can set up a “warrant canary”:
This isn’t perfect. A company that stops publishing regular transparency reports might have been compromised by the NSA, but it’s also possible that they’ve had a change in management and the new boss just doesn’t give a shit about his users’ privacy:
Likewise, a company making software it wants users to trust can release that code under an irrevocable free/open software license, thus guaranteeing that each release under that license will be free and open forever. This is good, but not perfect: the new boss can take that free/open code down a proprietary fork and try to orphan the free version:
A company can structure itself as a public benefit corporation and make a binding promise to elevate its stakeholders’ interests over its shareholders’ – but the CEO can still take a secret $100m bribe from cryptocurrency creeps and try to lure those stakeholders into a shitcoin Ponzi scheme:
A key resource can be entrusted to a nonprofit with a board of directors who are charged with stewarding it for the benefit of a broad community, but when a private equity fund dangles billions before that board, they can talk themselves into a belief that selling out is the right thing to do:
Ulysses pacts aren’t perfect, but they are very important. At the very least, creating a Ulysses pact starts with acknowledging that you are fallible. That you can be tempted, and rationalize your way into taking bad action, even when you know better. Becoming an adult is a process of learning that your strength comes from seeing your weaknesses and protecting yourself and the people who trust you from them.
Which brings me to enshittification. Enshittification is the process by which platforms betray their users and their customers by siphoning value away from each until the platform is a pile of shit:
Enshittification is a spectrum that can be applied to many companies’ decay, but in its purest form, enshittification requires:
a) A platform: a two-sided market with business customers and end users who can be played off against each other;
b) A digital back-end: a market that can be easily, rapidly and undetectably manipulated by its owners, who can alter search-rankings, prices and costs on a per-user, per-query basis; and
c) A lack of constraint: the platform’s owners must not fear a consequence for this cheating, be it from competitors, regulators, workforce resignations or rival technologists who use mods, alternative clients, blockers or other “adversarial interoperability” tools to disenshittify your product and sever your relationship with your users.
he founders of tech platforms don’t generally set out to enshittify them. Rather, they are constantly seeking some equilibrium between delivering value to their shareholders and turning value over to end users, business customers, and their own workers. Founders are consummate rationalizers; like parenting, founding a company requires continuous, low-grade self-deception about the amount of work involved and the chances of success. A founder, confronted with the likelihood of failure, is absolutely capable of talking themselves into believing that nearly any compromise is superior to shuttering the business: “I’m one of the good guys, so the most important thing is for me to live to fight another day. Thus I can do any number of immoral things to my users, business customers or workers, because I can make it up to them when we survive this crisis. It’s for their own good, even if they don’t know it. Indeed, I’m doubly moral here, because I’m volunteering to look like the bad guy, just so I can save this business, which will make the world over for the better”:
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