Speaking in the first person plural—without mentioning any specific critics—Andreessen states, “We believe in an absolute rejection of resentment.” However, the essay is saturated with resentment, particularly towards unnamed individuals who hold opposing views. “We are being deceived,” he claims, invoking the language of a demagogue. While he doesn’t identify any critics, Andreessen cautions readers about mantras used in a “vast demoralization campaign,” many of which he asserts are rooted in Communism. What are these undesirable terms? They include “sustainability,” “tech ethics,” and “risk management.” Do you support “social responsibility”? That must mean you lean left!
Andreessen claims to be receptive to criticism himself, echoing physicist Richard Feynman’s assertion: “I would rather have questions that can’t be answered than answers that can’t be questioned.” Yet if you propose caution regarding AI’s unchecked benefits or express concerns about ethical dilemmas or the potential extinction of humanity due to algorithms, he dramatically labels it as a grave offense. “Any slowdown in AI will cost lives. Deaths that could have been prevented by the AI that was thwarted from existing represent a form of murder,” he states.
What puzzles me about Andreessen is … what has transpired? When I first encountered him in the mid-1990s, he was a vibrant young man from the Midwest. He enthusiastically shared how he eagerly absorbed the inaugural issue of a tech magazine, feeling a connection to that community. At that time, the magazine was buoyed by optimism, though it did not label its critics as murderers. The young Andreessen appeared profoundly self-assured and was an exceedingly fast talker, a quality that would forever irritate my transcriptionist. (As time passed, he seemed to gain even more verbal speed.) Despite his intensity, his conversation exuded a joyful energy. Now, he stands as a billionaire championing the brilliance of an anarcho-capitalist framework that offers innovations like smartphones and vehicles but excludes millions from essential services like healthcare and housing. Addressing those issues should arguably be our paramount objective. Still, like other tech magnates of his ilk, he envisions a future where billions inhabit outer space.
I consider myself a lowercase techno-optimist. I can agree with one essential question Andreessen poses in his essay: “What kind of world are we creating for our children and their children, and their children?” Yet, our solutions diverge significantly.
Reflecting on the past, one longs for the time when Marc Andreessen was simply a witty young engineer with grand ambitions and no adversaries. In 1995, I noted that he was at the forefront of a power shift that would see the internet disrupt the traditional hierarchy of legacy media. My article for the New York Times Magazine, “How the Propeller Heads Stole the Electronic Future,” may seem obvious today, but it was groundbreaking for many at the time.
If you’re looking for a specific date marking the decline of the 500-channel dream, August 9, 1995, serves well. That morning, the public had its first opportunity to purchase stock in the newly established Netscape Communications Corporation, which developed software to navigate the Internet and create “sites” for users. The outcome was soon cemented in tech lore. The offering price of $28 per share soared within minutes to an astonishing $75, eventually settling at $58, a valuation of the still-unprofitable company at over $2 billion. Just a month later, it hovered around $53.