When technology increases productivity, a company has a new excuse to eliminate jobs and use the savings to reward its shareholders with dividends and stock buybacks. What would have been lost to wages is instead turned back into capital. So the middle class hollows out, and the only ones left making money are those depending on the passive returns from their investments.

This income disparity is not a fact of nature or an accident of capitalism, either, but part of its central code. Technology isn’t taking people’s jobs; rather, the industrial business plan is continuing to repress our ability to generate wealth and create value—this time, using digital technology. In other words, the values of the industrial economy are not succumbing to digital technology; digital technology is expressing the values of the industrial economy. The recent surge in productivity, according to Piketty, has taken this to a new level, so that the difference between capital and labor—profit and wages—is getting even bigger. Leading-edge digital businesses have ten times the revenue per employee as traditional businesses. Those who own the platforms, the algorithms, and the robots are the new landlords. Everybody else fights it out for the remaining jobs or tries to squeeze onto the profitable side of the inevitable power-law distribution of freelance creators.

But the beauty of living in a digital age is that the codes by which we are living—not just the computer codes but all of our laws and operating systems—become more apparent and fungible. Like time-elapsed film of a flower opening or the sun moving through the sky, the speed of digital processes helps us see cycles that may have been hidden to us before. The fact that these processes are themselves comprised of code—of rules written by people—prepares us to intervene on our own behalf.

A surplus of productivity should not be a problem. It’s only troublesome in an economy in which markets are driven by scarcity alone and value is understood as something to be extracted from people rather than created for them. That’s the zero-sum economic approach that sees something like, say, renewable energy as such a problem: how do we compensate for the loss of profit to be derived from digging oil out of the ground? When an economy has been based in exploiting real and artificial scarcity, the notion of a surplus of almost anything is a mortal threat. As individuals living in an economic landscape constructed over centuries to remove humans altogether, we fear being sacked the moment we are no longer necessary to our employers. As business owners, we fear technologies that render our claim to scarce resources or other competitive advantages obsolete.

We’ve gotten too competent to maintain this position. Rather, we must take a step outside the economic model in which we are living and accept the potentially scary truth that we have finally succeeded. In spite of our dehumanized approach (or maybe because of it), we have managed to produce enough stuff to give out a livable share to everyone as a matter of course, and for free. A whole lot of what used to be scarce is now plentiful, and between 3-D printing and other forms of distributed production, the rest of everything could turn out to be plentiful as well. We may be approaching what economic futurist Jeremy Rifkin calls “the zero marginal cost society,” in which new technologies reduce the cost of everything to nearly nothing at all.

The best part about looking at the corporation as a technology or medium is that, in the process, we remind ourselves that it didn’t just emerge as a natural phenomenon. It’s not as if businesses were getting so big that they evolved a corporate structure in order to keep growing properly. Quite the contrary: the corporation was invented by monarchs to stem the tide of a burgeoning middle class and its thriving new marketplace and usurp the growth they were enjoying. The fact that corporations were invented should alone empower us to _re_invent them to our liking.

So, then, what were corporations invented to amplify? The power of shareholders and the primacy of their capital. Feudal lords, who had lived off the labor of peasants for centuries, were getting poorer as the people began to make and trade goods with one another. The aristocracy needed a way to preserve their wealth and position in an increasingly free market. So they invented the chartered monopoly—a piece of paper with a list of rules—through which a king could grant exclusive dominion over an industry to his favorite merchant. In return, the king and other aristocrats got the right to invest in the enterprise. This way, they could use their wealth alone to make more money. Did the merchant need investors? For the most part, no. But he made this concession in order to get the king’s charter and protection. The investors were like shareholders, and the merchant was like the CEO. Except these shareholders were also the ones writing the laws of the land.

[...] Even digital companies that have grown too wealthy and unwieldy, such as Facebook and Google, now innovate through acquisition of startups—for which they pay a king’s ransom. Google has turned itself into a holding company, Alphabet, as if to better reflect its new role as the purchaser of other firms’ ideas. Standard accounting practice encourages it, because acquisitions are treated as capital expenditures, while real R & D counts as an expense against earnings. Once the new acquisition is absorbed, however, it is subjected to the same sorts of cost cutting that befell the parent. The expected “synergies” never quite pan out, which is why 80 percent of mergers and acquisitions end up reducing profit on both sides of the deal.

No question, digital technology has created tremendous new avenues for growth. Apple, Google, Facebook, Amazon, Microsoft, and many other corporations have created new opportunities and new millionaires. But as a result of their extractive, monopolistic practices, the landscape is left with less total activity and potential for growth. The pie is smaller, or at best staying the same, but these digital businesses have managed to get bigger pieces of it—making it harder for every other corporation around, including themselves in the long term.

In large part, this is because they’re still operating as if they were twentieth-century industrial corporations—only the original corporate code is now being executed by entirely more powerful and rapidly acting digital business plans. What algorithms do to the trading floor, digital business does to the economy. In the purely rational light of the computer program, a digital corporation is optimized to convert cash into share price—money and value into pure capital. Most of the people enabling this have no reason to believe it is harmful to the business landscape, much less to human beings

This rationale has been enough to keep most thoughtful Silicon Valley entrepreneurs from worrying too hard about the repercussions of their actions. After all, digital corporations will necessarily carry out corporate code better than their predecessors. They apply the engineer’s logic to every situation or choice and always optimize for the best and most defensible outcomes. For example, last century’s retailers mailed out catalogues and then used sales feedback to adjust the offerings for the next quarter. A digital company will A/B test its Web page, display ad, or online catalogue in real time. Every interaction is a test of a bigger/smaller font, a higher/lower price, friendly/formal language, and so on. The thousandth time a page is rendered, it has evolved into a much better selling mechanism. Digital is better.

Amazon amplifies the power of central authorities. It first appeared that it would empower the independent publisher by giving everyone a place on its infinite shelf space. But it eventually grew into the center of the publishing universe. Everyone is the same size—tiny—compared to the platform on which they sell and interact. Amazon sets the prices, the terms, the technologies, the copy protection, the privacy of readers . . . everything.

Amazon retrieves the spirit of empire by colonizing not just verticals within its own category but horizontals in everyone else’s. It first established a platform monopoly in books by selling books at a loss, in the manner of Walmart using its ample war chest of capital to undercut local stores. A simple loyalty perk like free shipping was eventually revealed to be the ever-expanding, increasingly sticky Amazon Prime. Amazon then leveraged its monopoly in books and free shipping to develop monopolies in other verticals, beginning with home electronics (bankrupting Circuit City and Best Buy), and then every other link in the physical and virtual fulfillment chain, from shoes and food to music and videos.

[...]

Amazon isn’t really a new sort of company so much as a very old sort of company. It is leveraging digital platforms the way colonial powers once leveraged their exclusive shipping routes to the New World. (Both even have pirates to watch out for!) That’s why none of this is ever about bringing more value to people or—heaven forbid—helping people create and exchange value on their own. Digitizing the corporation simply affords it ever more efficient and compelling ways to extract what remaining value people and places have to offer.

As corporate law is currently structured, CEOs and their boards of directors can be held liable if they fail to do everything in their power to maximize quarterly returns for public shareholders. CEOs are not merely incentivized to pursue the short-term bottom line; they are legally obligated. Rather than liberating the corporation from such ultimately counterproductive rules, the digital age has put them on automatic, exacerbating their impact and making them appear more permanently embedded than ever. The more promising potential of the digital environment would be to revise the corporation itself to our liking. That’s the invitation here—not to digitize the corporation with technology but to approach the corporation itself from a digital perspective of redesign. The corporation’s charter can be recoded.