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Americans keeping close track of political news may have been toggling their screens today between Senate confirmation hearings: the second day of Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s for secretary of Health and Human Services, and the first for Tulsi Gabbard’s for director of national intelligence and Kash Patel’s for FBI director. But each of those three hearings deserves the public’s full attention: Donald Trump’s nominees offered new glimpses into their approaches to policy, truth, and loyalty to the president.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr., Day Two

Ahead of Kennedy’s first day of hearings, our colleague Nicholas Florko noted that the HHS nominee is no stranger to conspiracist statements: “RFK Jr. has insinuated that an attempt to assassinate members of Congress via anthrax-laced mail in 2001 may have been a ‘false flag’ attack orchestrated by ‘someone in our government’ to gin up interest in the government preparing for potential biological weapon threats. He has claimed that COVID was ‘targeted to attack Caucasians and Black people,’ and that 5G is being used to ‘harvest our data and control our behavior.’ He has suggested that the use of antidepressants might be linked to mass shootings.”

“If Republican senators skirt around [Kennedy’s] falsehoods during today’s confirmation hearings,” Nicholas wrote, “it will be evidence of their prevailing capitulation to Trump. And it also may be a function of Kennedy’s rhetorical sleights … He’s capable of rattling off vaccine studies with the fluency of a virologist, which boosts his credibility, even though he’s freely misrepresenting reality.” But Kennedy’s sleights didn’t serve him quite as well today as he might have hoped.

At several points, senators encouraged Kennedy to acknowledge that vaccines are not the cause of autism, but instead of confirming what numerous studies have shown to be true, Kennedy insisted that he would need to “look at all the data” before coming to any conclusions. “The room went silent today during Senator [Bill] Cassidy’s closing questions,” Nicholas noted when we spoke this afternoon. “Cassidy was practically begging Kennedy to recant his previous statements on vaccines. Kennedy, like everyone else in the room, had to know this was a make-or-break moment for his confirmation. But despite the potential fallout, Kennedy refused, promising only that he would look at any studies presented to him disproving a link between vaccines and autism.”

The nominee for HHS secretary also showed, for the second day in a row, his lack of understanding about basics of the Medicare system, fumbling his answers to a series of rapid-fire questions from Senator Maggie Hassan, a Democrat from New Hampshire. Hassan also shared that she is the mother of a 36-year-old with cerebral palsy, and accused Kennedy of relitigating settled science on the fact that vaccines do not cause autism. “It’s the relitigating and rehashing and continuing to sow doubt so we can’t move forward, and it freezes us in place,” she argued.

Cassidy, whose vote could prove key to whether RFK Jr. is confirmed, said after today’s hearing that he is “struggling” over whether to confirm Kennedy.

Tulsi Gabbard

Gabbard came into her confirmation process with a history that raises questions about her commitment to national security (she has, among other things, met with former Syrian President Bashar al-Assad and expressed sympathetic views toward Russian President Vladimir Putin). As our colleague Tom Nichols wrote in November, “Gabbard has every right to her personal views, however inscrutable they may be. As a private citizen, she can apologize for Assad and Putin to her heart’s content. But as a security risk, Gabbard is a walking Christmas tree of warning lights. If she is nominated to be America’s top intelligence officer, that’s everyone’s business.”

The topic that ultimately received much attention in her confirmation hearing today was her refusal to say whether Edward Snowden is a traitor. Despite pressure from Democratic and Republican senators, Gabbard refused to answer the question, repeating that Snowden had broken the law and that she would take steps to make sure whistleblowers know how to properly make a complaint. Gabbard also revealed that she was unable to extract any concessions in her 2017 meeting with Assad. “I didn’t expect to,” she said.

Gabbard’s potential confirmation will depend on how her somewhat incoherent set of policy views sits with Republican senators. Last week, our colleague Elaine Godfrey explored the one through line—besides ambition—that has guided Gabbard’s otherwise inconsistent political career.

Kash Patel

Donald Trump is not always clear about what he means when he refers to “DEI,” but presumably it involves how someone’s identity is taken into consideration during the hiring process. In this morning’s press conference addressing the tragic plane crash last night, Trump asserted, without evidence but crediting his “common sense,” that DEI hiring at the Federal Aviation Administration was at fault.

It was odd, then, that a few hours later, Republican senators used Patel’s confirmation hearing to highlight his identity: Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina asked about examples of racism Patel has experienced, and Senator Mike Lee of Utah acknowledged the struggles Patel and his father must have faced as racial minorities in the United States and Uganda, respectively. Senator Thom Tillis of North Carolina, as if he were reading from a book report about the Gujarati people, lauded the religious diversity in Gujarat, India, where Patel’s family is originally from, omitting the state’s extreme tensions and violent history. Patel opened his own remarks by acknowledging his family’s journey from abroad. He invoked the phrase Jai Shri Krishna, a standard greeting for a sect of Hindus seeking blessings.

Patel was calm and still—he became riled up only when questioned by Senator Amy Klobuchar about his past suggestion that he would “shut down the FBI Hoover Building on day one and reopen it the next day as a museum of the ‘deep state.’” But he was walking a tightrope. Today’s hearing may be the rare instance when Patel has publicly broken with Trump, to whom he has otherwise been unequivocally loyal. He refused to explicitly state that Trump lost the 2020 election, but he also said, “I do not agree with the commutation of any sentence of any individual who committed violence against law enforcement.”

Overall, Patel seemed to be trying to carefully toe a line, answering questions about the culture-war issues that Trump and congressional Republicans care about—Senator Marsha Blackburn, for example, asserted during the hearing that the FBI prioritizes DEI and “counting Swiftie bracelets” over conducting investigations—while attempting not to alienate the employees he hopes to lead. Pressed by Blackburn, Patel made a vague statement about the “high standards” FBI employees must meet.

Related:

RFK Jr. has a lot to learn about Medicaid. What everyone gets wrong about Tulsi Gabbard

Here are four new stories from The Atlantic:

The memo that shocked the White House The near misses at airports have been telling us something. Donald Trump is just watching this crisis unfold. Jonathan Lemire: “What I saw at Trump’s first press conference”

Today’s News

Officials announced that there are no survivors in the crash last night between a U.S.-military Black Hawk helicopter and a regional American Airlines passenger jet landing at an airport near Washington, D.C. Three soldiers were aboard the helicopter, and 64 people were on the flight from Wichita, Kansas. Donald Trump appointed Christopher Rocheleau as the acting administrator of the Federal Aviation Administration. The agency had not had an administrator since the start of Trump’s new term. Eight hostages were released from Gaza by Hamas, and Israel released 110 Palestinian prisoners.

Dispatches

Time-Travel Thursdays: Don Peck interviews Nicholas Carr about h​​ow online life has rewired our brains.

Explore all of our newsletters here.

More From The Atlantic

“The ‘exciting business opportunity’ that ruined our lives” Trump’s war on meritocracy If Iranian assassins kill them, it will be Trump’s fault, Tom Nichols writes. Don’t politicize aviation safety. The return of snake oil Why Meta is paying $25 million to settle a Trump lawsuit

Evening Read

Illustration by Ben Kothe / The Atlantic. Source: Getty.

Your FOMO Is Trying to Tell You Something

By Faith Hill

I feel deeply haunted by the thought that if I don’t go to the party or the dinner or the coffee stroll, my one wild and precious life will be void of a joyful, transformative event—one I’d surely still be thinking about on my deathbed, a friend at my side tenderly holding my hand and whispering, Remember? That time we went bowling and the guy in the next lane over said that funny thing? Every year, my New Year’s resolution is to keep one night of the week free from social plans. Almost every week, I fail.

Read the full article.

Culture Break

Illustration by The Atlantic. Source: Jamie McCarthy / Getty.

Listen. In the latest episode of Radio Atlantic, the MSNBC host Chris Hayes speaks with Hanna Rosin about how bad the war for your attention has really gotten.

Read. The Stranger Things effect is coming for the novel, Mark Athitakis writes.

Play our daily crossword.

Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

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By now you’ve probably noticed your attention being stolen, daily, by your various devices. You’ve probably read somewhere that companies much more powerful than you are dedicated to refining and perfecting that theft. In this episode of Radio Atlantic, MSNBC host and author of The Sirens’ Call: How Attention Became the World’s Most Endangered Resource explains in painful detail what you’re really up against. “It’s absolutely endemic to modern life,” Hayes says. “Our entire lives now is the wail of that siren going down the street.”

Hayes talks about his own experience of becoming famous enough to be recognized and becoming a little addicted to that attention. He explains how companies have learned to manipulate natural biological impulses in ways that keep us trapped. And he invokes Marx, who argued that capitalism alienates workers from their labor, to explain how technology is now alienating all of humanity from attention, which is perhaps more insidious because it lives in our psyches. “I think it’s because there’s something holy or sublime in actual human connection that can’t be replicated.”

The following is a transcript of the episode:

[Music]

Child: When my parents are on the phone, it usually makes me feel, like, really bored and makes me want to do something, because I don’t really have anything to do. And I’m kind of just, like, sitting there and watching them on the phone.

Claudine Ebeid: And what do you think about the amount of time that Dad and I spend on the phone?

Child: Well, I think, like, when they had landlines and stuff, you wouldn’t spend too much more time on the phone, and you would spend it on other types of devices.

But now, since it’s all in the phone, you wouldn’t really be seeing your parents, like, on a computer. You’d only see them doing that for, like, work or something.

Hanna Rosin: That’s our executive producer, Claudine Ebeid, and her daughter. We’re hearing from them because when we talk about screen time or how phones are manipulating us, it’s often adults talking about kids. But of course, it goes the other way too.

Chris Hayes: Every kid is engaged in a kind of battle for their parent’s attention.

Rosin: This is Chris Hayes, my guest this week.

Hayes: I mean, I think every kid notices how distracted parents are by the phone.

Rosin: Who’s the meanest to you about it?

Hayes: My youngest.

Rosin: Really? (Laughs.)

Hayes: Yeah.

Rosin: Not the teenager?

Hayes: No, actually, I think the youngest, because youngest children have a real antenna for attention. They come into a family in which they recognize immediately that there is, at some level, a kind of Hobbesian war of all against all for parental attention.

Rosin: I’m Hanna Rosin, and this week on the Radio Atlantic: the war for your attention.

You probably know Chris Hayes best as a host on MSNBC. He’s the author of a new book: The Sirens’ Call: How Attention Became the World’s Most Endangered Resource. And he doesn’t just mean parental attention. He’s talking about attention in politics, commerce, social media—basically, how capitalism found a uniquely human weakness to exploit.

But of course, since the topic is so often seen only through the lens of parents and children, we started out sharing how we can feel like hypocrites when we police our kids’ devices.

[Music]

Hayes: The one that I’ve caught myself doing is: your child asking for screen time when they’re, you know, not allowed to or it’s not normally the time, and giving them, like, a sharp “no”—and then going back to looking at your phone. (Laughs.)

Rosin: Oh, Chris. One thousand percent. Even the fact that we get to use the term screen time, and guess who doesn’t get to use the term screen time. They can’t be like, Dad, you only have an hour of screen time a day.

Hayes: That’s right. And one of the things I write about in the book is that when we think about the state of boredom, or being bored, I think we associate it with being a child. I mean, I remember days in the summer, particularly, where I was a little underscheduled. I was just sort of sitting around—these periods where you feel like, I have nothing to do.

And the reason I’ve come to believe that we associate [boredom] with childhood is, as soon as we are old enough to control our lives, we do everything possible to make sure we never feel it. That’s why it’s associated with childhood: because children don’t have full agency. Once we develop full agency, we’re like, I’m not gonna be in that state. I’m gonna do whatever it takes not to be in that state.

Rosin: Chris writes about how there are two kinds of attention: voluntary attention and compelled attention.

Hayes: So compelled attention is part of our deepest biological, neurological wiring. It’s the involuntary reaction if you are at a cocktail party and a waiter drops a tray of glasses.

[Glass breaking]

Hayes: You can’t help it. You cannot control whether you’re going to pay attention to that. It’s often the case with, you know, an explosion—

[Loud boom]

Hayes: —or the siren that is on top of an ambulance or a cop car as it goes down the street.

[Siren wailing]

Hayes: That involuntary attention is the part of our neurological wiring in which our attention is compelled, independent of our volition and will, as a kind of almost biological fact, due to the fact that we needed to be alert to danger, basically.

And then there’s voluntary attention, which is when we, using the conscious will, flash the beam of thought where we want it to go.

Rosin: So [if] I sit down and read your book, that’s voluntary attention.

Hayes: Correct.

Rosin: Is one better than the other?

Hayes: Well, I mean, I think that, look—involuntary attention is probably necessary for the survival of the species. So in that sense, it’s fundamental, and I wouldn’t say it’s worse. The problem is: So let’s say you’re reading the book. You’ve made this volitional decision, and as you’re reading the book, the little haptic buzz of a notification in your phone goes off.

[Tech vibration noise]

Hayes: Now, you notice that because it’s designed to use the deep circuitry of compelled attention to force your attention onto the physical sensation of the phone.

That is a perfect example of the one-way ratchet of what I call “attention capitalism,” is that the more important attention gets, and the more that people, corporations, and platforms have sort of optimized for it competitively, the more they will try to use the tactics of compelled attention to get our attention, rather than to get the part of us that’s volitional attention.

Now, of course, you still have human will. And in that moment, you’re going to decide, Am I going to take my phone out to see what the notification was or not? But that little moment, that little interruption, that’s pretty new at scale. I think it’s totally new at scale.

And it’s also just absolutely endemic to modern life. It’s our entire lives now, is that wail of the siren going down the street, the clatter of the drop tray.

[Siren wails, glass breaks, phone buzzes]

Hayes: There’s very powerful forces attempting to compel our attention away from where we might want to put it in any moment, because that’s a kind of hack for them for getting our attention.

Rosin: Right. You’re a little less than aware of it. Like, you’re not thinking, I want to look towards the waiter dropping the tray, or I want to look towards the ambulance. You’re just kind of reactive.

Hayes: Yeah, you’re reactive, and you’re at your sort of biophysical base, right? The comparison that I use in the book, and I think this might be helpful for people to think this through, is how hunger works. With food, we have these deep biological inheritances where there’s just universal deep wiring towards sweets, for instance, or fats, because they are extremely calorie dense.

You can exploit that at scale, as McDonald’s has and other food operations, and find that you could basically sell cheeseburgers and salty fries and Coca Cola all over the world, because you’re working on that deep biological substrate in people. But it’s also the case when you ask, Well, what do humans like to eat? it’s an impossible thing to answer, because the answer is: basically everything, right? It’s amazing, all the different things.

And what we see in sort of modern food culture and the food industry is a sort of fascinating kind of battle between these twin forces, right? The kind of industrialized production and fast food that is attempting to sort of find the lowest common denominator, speak to that deepest biological substrate so that they can sell corn syrup to everyone—and then all of the amazing things that people do with food and what food means as culture, as history, as self-expression, as expression of love and bonds.

And I think, basically, there’s a very similar dynamic that we now have with attention, where our compelled attention and our deep wiring is being extracted and exploited by very sophisticated, large, and powerful economic entities.

And yet we still do have this thing called voluntary attention. And you know, what’s sort of amazing, too, about the internet age is, like—and I say this in the book—like, I’ve watched hours of people cleaning carpets, which I find totally compelling and almost sort of sublime and soothing. And I wouldn’t have guessed that that was a thing I wanted to pay attention to.

You know, the internet has opened this cornucopia of different things you can pay attention to. So we’re constantly in this battle between these two forms of attention that are in our heads and the different entities that are trying to compel our attention against our will, and then our own kind of volitional attempt to control it.

Rosin: Chris, were you high when you were watching videos of cleaning carpets?

Hayes: (Laughs.) Mostly not. Occasionally yes, but mostly I have been sober while watching the cleaning carpets, and I’ve still found them incredibly calming.

Rosin: What? (Laughs.) So that’s your ASMR, is carpet cleaning?

Hayes: I don’t know if you’ve seen these, but they take these super, super dirty carpets—it’s like a genre video. There’s a million different ones now, which indicates that that’s not just me. Lots of people feel this way.

Rosin: It’s okay. It’s okay. There’s no judgment in this podcast at all.

Hayes: This is my kink.

Rosin: (Laughs.) You can find your calm wherever you need it. I’m just curious.

Hayes: (Laughs.) So yeah, that’s basically how I think about compelled involuntary attention. And I do think that, because I think we’re more familiar with it in the context of our appetites and hunger, I think it’s a really useful and grounding metaphor, because I think it functions in a very similar way.

Rosin: Essentially, what you’re saying is, the way this works is: We’ve got some biological impulses, let’s say, for example, to want social attention, just to be noticed by others. That’s in us, and that’s fine.

Hayes: Yeah. I mean, I think the reason that it’s so foundational, social attention— and I think it’s slightly counterintuitive because I think people have very different attitudes and personal dispositions towards social attention. Lots of people don’t like it. But the foundational truth about being a human is: We come into the world utterly helpless and dependent, completely, on care. And the thing prior to that care is attention.

And the best way to see this is the child’s wail. The most powerful tool that the newborn has is the cry. And the reason they have the cry is: It’s their siren. It compels our attention. And the reason that it compels our attention, and the reason they have to have the ability to compel our attention, is because without attention, they will perish. And that is our human inheritance. That need from the moment we come gasping into the world for others’ attention—that is foundational to every single one of us.

Rosin: So we have this need for social attention. It’s a basic need. Whether we’re an introvert or an extrovert, that’s not what we’re talking about. We just have this basic need for social attention. What is different about seeking social attention online?

Hayes: Okay, this is really, I think, a key thing to think about. Before civilization, you got social attention from people that you knew that you had relationships with, right? There weren’t really strangers. And you might be able to put your social attention on someone you don’t know, like a kind of godlike figure or a mythic hero that tales were told of, right? So you could put your attention on a person you don’t know, but the social attention you received was all from people that you had a bilateral relationship with. What happens with the dawn of what we might call fame—and there’s an amazing book about this that I cite—

Rosin: Leo Braudy.

Hayes: Yeah, Leo Braudy’s great book. He says Alexander, basically, is the first famous person, and he explains why. But fame is the experience of receiving social attention from people you do not know, and at scale.

Now this is a very strange experience. And the reason I know this is because I happen to live it. And so in the progression of civilization, you start to have famous people, and more and more people can be famous with the dawn of industrial media: movie stars, pop stars, all this stuff.

But it’s still a very, very, very tiny percentage of people that can be known by strangers—that can have social attention being paid to them by strangers. That just generally doesn’t happen for most people, and most people are gonna have received social attention from people they have relationships with, and they might put their social attention on all sorts of public figures—the president or celebrities and other people—but they’re not getting it from people they don’t know.

That just is a very tiny sliver of humans that can have that experience, and now it is utterly democratized for everyone for the first time in human history. I mean, it’s genuinely new, genuinely a break, has not happened before. Anyone can have enormous social attention from oceans of strangers on them. You can have a viral moment online. You can cultivate a following. This experience of social attention from strangers—precisely because it is so at odds, I think, with our inheritance—is weird and alienating. And there’s a bunch of ways it is. One of the ways it’s alienating is that we are conditioned to care what the people we love think about us.

We’re conditioned to care if we’ve hurt someone that we have a relationship with. But it’s very different if you’ve insulted or hurt just a total stranger who’s saying mean things to you, or you’ve disappointed them, or they’re angry at you. That comes into you, psychologically, indistinguishably from it coming from kin or lover or friend.

Rosin: So we just basically, our—I don’t know if I want to call them our intimacy compass—something gets scrambled. We just don’t have the category to react or manage that category of social attention. We just don’t know what to do with it.

Hayes: Truly, there’s a kind of clash here between the data set we’re trained on, if you will, and what we’re encountering. And the reason—again, this is a place that I really know, right? I didn’t used to have people come up to me on the street, and then I became famous enough that people did. And I’ve experienced all the ways that that’s strange and alienating, and I’ve given a lot of thought—partly as a kind of full-time psychological undertaking, so that I don’t go crazy, because I do think it’s kind of distorting and madness inducing in its own way.

And what we’ve done is basically democratize the madness-inducing aspects of celebrity for the entire society. Every teenager with a phone now can be driven nuts in precisely the way that we have watched generations of celebrities and stars go crazy.

Rosin: You mentioned Bo Burnham in your book and the movie he made, Eighth Grade. When he talked about why he made that movie, he said that same thing. He had a similar experience to you—he went viral at a pretty young age—and then he realized that every eighth grader was having the kind of experience that he had had, which he found so alienating but that had now become a common experience. Can you read a paragraph for me from your “social attention” chapter, which I think is relevant to this conversation?

Hayes: Sure. I’d love to.

Rosin: Just the paragraph that starts with “the social media combination.”

Hayes: “The social media combination of mass fame and mass surveillance increasingly channels our most basic impulses—toward loving and being loved, caring for and being cared for, getting our friends to laugh at our jokes—into the project of impressing strangers, a project that cannot, by definition, sate our desires but feels close enough to real human connection that we cannot but pursue it in ever more compulsive ways.”

Rosin: That really hit me. It’s a dark vision. It’s like they tap into our thirst perfectly but then just keep the glass of water just out of reach, you know?

Hayes: Well, and I think that’s because there’s something holy or sublime in actual human connection that can’t be replicated.

Rosin: Yeah.

Hayes: —that, you know, the thing that we’re chasing is something ineffable and nonreplicable. And it’s the reason we chase it, because it’s what makes life worth living, at a certain level, is to be recognized and seen. Relationships of mutual support and affection and care with other people—you know, that’s it. That’s the stuff of it. And we are given a tantalizing facsimile that some deep part of us cannot help but chase, but it can’t also be the real thing.

Rosin: When we come back: who exactly is benefiting from this attention economy, why it feels so bad for the rest of us, and what we can do about it. That’s after the break.

[Break]

Rosin: We’re back. And we’re starting with something that everyone who gets social attention from strangers learns.

Hayes: What you quickly find is that positive compliments and recognition—they just sort of wash off you. But the insults and the negativity cuts and sticks. I mean, do you not feel that way as someone who has some public profile?

Rosin: Yes, yes. It’s happened to me, and I was so surprised at how hurt I was. And when I look back, I think, like, I literally don’t really know those people. Like, there’s just something so, Ugh. It’s, like, ancient, the feeling—like you’re being pilloried or something, like you’re in the public square—and it feels terrible, and I don’t understand why. Like, I could just shut my computer, and it’d be gone, but it does not feel that way, internally.

Hayes: Yeah, and I can think of days I spent in that haze. You know, when you come out of it, you’re like, Why did I let myself feel that way? Like, Why did I spend a whole day? Like, Why was I—I can even think of moments of being distracted from my kids because I was sitting there and feeling wounded and hurt and ruminating on a mean thing someone who I don’t know said online. And I’m distracted, and my attention’s on that instead of my wonderful child sitting on my lap, you know? (Laughs.)

Rosin: Well, I think the lesson to learn from that is what you’re talking about in this book, is how vulnerable we are. Even when it doesn’t make intellectual sense, there is some way that we’re vulnerable in this moment. We can’t completely control our reactions and choose, voluntarily, not to pay attention to this thing. We don’t have that kind of agency—not yet, anyway.

Hayes: That’s exactly right. You know, attention is the substance of life. That is what our lives add up to. It’s in every moment, we are choosing to pay attention to something, or we’re having it compelled, but we’re paying attention to something. And that’s what adds up to a day and a week and a month and a year and a life.

And it’s also finite. You know, this is one of the key points I make, is that part of the value—and the reason it’s so valuable, and the reason there is such competition for the extraction of attention—is that unlike information, it’s capped. It’s a finite resource. It’s that people are figuring out how to take one or two extra slices of the pie, not grow it. And that’s the other thing that leads to the feeling of alienation and the feeling that something has been taken away from us because of its finitude.

Rosin: Well, let’s talk about attention as a resource, because we’ve talked a lot about how it works in us, the individuals, and permeates our lives, but I want to talk about a broader social context. You make this very compelling analogy between our attention problem and Marxist ideas. I did have this image of you at a bookstore one day, like, being bored and coming across a copy of Das Kapital, and like, a lightning bolt goes off. Yes! It’s like Marx but for the information age. It’s a really compelling analogy. Can you explain it?

Hayes: Yes, I mean, you know, I started reading Marx in high school, which is a weird thing to say, but it’s true. Here’s the basic argument Marx makes about labor.

So he’s living at this time where there’s this new thing called “wage capitalism,” “wage labor.” People, you know, sell their labor on a per-hour basis.

Rosin: And how is that different from people’s relationship to labor before? Just so we get the analogy.

Hayes: Totally. So let’s think about a cobbler, right? You’re in the preindustrial age. You got your little shop. You make a shoe. And there’s a few things about this process that are distinct. One is, there’s a telos; there’s an arc to it. You start with the raw materials, then you put them together, then you put the sole on, then you put the finish on. In the end, you have a shoe, and you own that shoe, and then you sell it in your store in exchange for money.

Now, compare that experience to the wage laborer in a shoe factory who is at one position stamping soles 10 or 12 hours a day, six days a week. In both cases, you could say that sort of preindustrial cobbler and the shoe-factory worker are both laboring.

But now there’s this distinct thing called “labor as a commodity” that has a wage price and a set of institutions to take the labor in exchange for that wage, and a set of technological and economic developments that produce a situation in which you go from being the cobbler, who makes the whole shoe, to being in a factory 12 hours a day, stamping a sole.

And Marx talks about this as the root of alienation. You’re just alienated from yourself, from your humanity. You’re not doing a recognizably human thing. You’re doing something that feels robotic and mechanical, but also that the value that you’re creating is literally outside of you. I mean, to go back to the cobbler, when he makes the shoe, he actually owns the shoe. If he wanted to make the shoe and give it to his kids, he could do that—and sometimes cobblers would, right? But the factory worker doesn’t have that. The factory worker is alienated from the value of the shoe. He’s stamping the sole, and when it goes down the line, it gets sold off somewhere else. It’s literally outside of him. It’s alien to him.

So this is the basic Marx labor theory of value, right? That you have this transformation in society, economic conditions, institutions that took a thing that was fundamentally human—effort, toil, whatever you want to call it—and transformed it into this new thing that was a commodity that could be priced and bought and traded.

Rosin: Called labor.

Hayes: Called labor. And I think, basically, there’s something happening right now with attention that’s similar. People have always paid attention to things, and that attention has always had some value, and there’s people who have utilized that value for all kinds of purposes—P. T. Barnum, Mark Antony: “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.”

You know, there’s always been a value there, but we’ve entered an age that I think is similar to the industrial age—but for attention—where a set of institutions, technologies, and arrangements have produced a world in which our attention is being extracted from us, commodified, and sold at a price, often in millisecond auctions to advertisers.

And that extraction leads to a profound sense of alienation, similar in some ways to that sense of alienation and that alienation of the laborer. And yet there’s one more way in which it’s even more insidious, I would argue, which is that compelled, involuntary aspect.

So labor can be coerced forcibly. I mean, you can, you know, use a whip or a gun to make someone do something. If you put a gun to someone’s head and say, Dig a ditch, you’re coercing. You’re forcing that labor. But they know they’re doing it. If you fire a gun, your head will snap around before you know you’re even doing it.

And so because of this involuntary, compelled aspect of our biological wiring for attention, this new competitive attention capitalism is working to extract it at such a deep level that it’s compelling it, at some way, before we’re even able to make a volitional choice about it. And that feeling is this profound, deep feeling of alienation.

I think this alienation is so ubiquitous. I think we all feel versions of it, and I found the concept of alienation, which I always found a little foggy in the past, very clarifying. Something that should be within us is outside of us, and that within us is my control over my own thoughts. That’s the thing that should be within me. That’s the nature of consciousness itself, what it means to be of free will, and yet that is being extracted and commodified and taken outside of me.

Rosin: So we’re not exactly compelled. Nobody’s holding a gun to our head. So I don’t know that you could say it’s worse. It’s just more confusing because we are participating. So in some sense—

Hayes: Yes, that’s a good point. Yes, there’s not the same sense of violation, right? Because in some ways it feels like we’re consenting. I think you’re right. That muddies it and also gives us a weird feeling of shame and guilt.

Rosin: One consequence we’re seeing is the kind of people who thrive in this age—obviously, Donald Trump. You mention Elon Musk a lot in the book, which I think is a specific point. Like, the Trump point is kind of obvious. Like, why someone like that thrives in an age of attention, I think we intuitively understand that. Musk is a little more complicated.

Hayes: Well, look—here’s what unites them, right? It’s fundamentally: These are people that understand that attention matters more than anything, even at the cost of negative attention. And this is really the key thing to understand, I think, that has really warped our public discourse. The thing that separates social attention from other, more elevated forms of human interaction is that it’s necessary but not sufficient.

Someone flirting with you across the bar is social attention, a pleasant kind. Someone screaming at your face because you’re too close to them on the subway is also attention. And that’s the weird thing about attention. It could be of either valence and everything in between.

In a world that increasingly values attention over all else, what you get is you unlock the universe of negative attention and its power, because if all that matters is attention, then negative attention is just as good as positive attention. Now, most of us are conditioned to not like negative attention. But there’s a certain set of people who, either through a sort of intellectual understanding—sometimes this happens, where you’ll read interviews with creators who are like, Oh yeah. Once I started trolling, I got more views, right?

So part of it is: The algorithms select for negative attention. But part of it is just a deep brokenness in their personality, and I think this is true of both Donald Trump and Elon Musk, to seek out negative attention because it’s attention. And this creates a kind of troll politics writ large, and I think we’re sort of watching, in some ways, the Musk era supplant the Trump era, if that makes sense?

Rosin: What do you mean? What do you define as the Musk era?

Hayes: So most politicians, they want positive attention, and if they can’t get positive attention, they want no attention and then, underneath that, negative attention, right? So it’s like, you want people to like you and know your name, or you want to stay out of the news. And what Trump realized is that, no, it doesn’t matter whether it’s positive or negative, as long as you’re getting attention,

Musk has now taken this insight to actually having captured a platform that he purchased, where he is now operationalizing this at scale. So it’s like the higher synthesis of the insight of Trump. He’s understood that attention is the most valuable resource, and this is true in monetary terms. I mean, look at what’s happened—this I actually get wrong in the book because I was writing it too early.

Look what happened: He buys Twitter, okay? He buys it for $44 billion. So he gets it so he could be the main character on this. He so obsessively pursues this attention that it destroys the actual value of the entity. So lighting $25 billion on fire, right, all in this sort of broken pursuit of attention. But then, using this attention and using the platform, he helps elect a president who puts him, essentially, at the seat of power that produces an enormous boon in his personal wealth because people are like, Oh now he is close to power, and it has netted him hundreds of billions of dollars in his personal value.

And it’s the most incredible allegory for the entire attention age. Here are these two guys, Donald Trump and Elon Musk, who seem to recognize more than anyone that attention is the most valuable resource and that you should do whatever you can to pursue it, even if that means acting like a maniac. And it’s kind of worked for both of them.

Rosin: That seems so huge and overpowering. I mean, there’s a way of listening to you and reading this book and fully seeing it. Like, we can see the train wreck in our own lives and sort of out there in the world. But you might read the book and think, Okay, this is my own ordeal—like, something I have to combat. I have to put my phone away. I have to chain myself to the trees or whatever.

Hayes: Yeah. I mean, so the first thing I would say is that the cause for optimism, which I have some, is that I feel this is pretty untenable and unsustainable, because I think the sense of exhaustion and alienation so ubiquitous and profound that I don’t think it can keep going that way. And actually, I think that there’s unbelievable latent energy for something different than what this is.

There are ways that attention can still be bought and sold that isn’t this particular to-the-second, algorithmic, infinite scroll that we’re all now trapped in, right? So I think you are going to see flourishing of alternate means. And you see this, I mean—Substack, the longform newsletter. We’re seeing it happen. Like, Substack is growing because people do want to read long things from people that they think are interesting, and not just algorithmic serving of short-form video. That’s a different model. It’s a for-profit model, but it’s a different model and, I think, a better one and one that’s less extractive and alienating for our attention.

You know, vinyl records were completely supplanted by cassette tapes and then CDs. And then, starting about 10 years ago, they started growing, and they’ve been growing every year, and they’ve been growing at huge paces, and there’s now a thriving vinyl industry. And the reason is that, I think, when you are streaming music, you have the twitchy, short-form attention extraction of going to the next song, or maybe I want something else. When you put on a record, you commit, right?

The commitment mechanism is the triumph of the volitional will over the involuntary attention compulsion, right? It’s like Odysseus lashing himself to the mast, right? We make a commitment: I’m going to read this email from this Substacker I subscribe to. I’m going to listen to this album, which I’ve put on vinyl. These commitment methods—and, again, they could be in for-profit context—I think we are going to see flourishing and more energy behind that.

And the other example I use, because I talked about hunger before, is to think about what’s happened with how opposition to the sort of corporate, industrial food system the U.S. has worked. So you’ve had an entire thriving ecosystem and set of businesses built up in opposition to precisely the forms of extractive and exploitative food capitalism that I think is parallel to attention capitalism.

And I think we are going to see that. There are people that market dumb phones now, and I think there’s gonna be a lot more of them. I can imagine a world in which, in the same way that a certain kind of parent doesn’t feed their kids fast food, you start to see that more and more, that people kind of just opt out of this entire system, to the extent they can.

Rosin: Do you think we’re being exploited, and we should be mad about it?

Hayes: Yeah, I do. I do. I think that there’s something pretty dark and insidious about how the major platforms, particularly, are engineering this kind of attention compulsion. And I think we are going to enter an era in which we start regulating attention seriously. You’re seeing this call—you know, in Australia, they’ve already banned social media for children under 16. You’re going to see more and more calls for that. But also, I can imagine other ways that we try to regulate it, whether it’s hard caps—regulated hard caps on screen time. I mean, that sounds so crazy and kind of un-American, but I don’t know. Maybe that’s a good idea!

Rosin: Well, I take hope in the schools. I mean, schools, not just in the U.S. but all over the world, are starting to get pretty serious about no phones at all during class time, which is radical. If you’re a teenager, that’s a radical change in your life. So that’s hopeful. I will say one thing your book has really done for me very concretely is make me appreciate my group chats.

Like, after I read your book, I went back and I thanked—you know, I thought, Oh, you know, I’ve got a couple of group chats that are so fun. And I just went and thanked everybody on them.

Hayes: That makes me so happy to hear that, because this is a book written by a person who genuinely loves the internet and has loved the internet most of his adult life. I mean, I’m an early internet adopter, and what the group chat is doing is: It’s using technology to connect actual people that know each other.

And there’s lots of stuff that could happen in group chat that could be messy or bad, because humans can be mean or gossipy to each other. But fundamentally, there’s not an interposition of some entity trying to monetize it. It’s a noncommercial space. It’s a technology that’s a noncommercial space.

It feels like the early noncommercial internet. You just go on with your friends, and you make jokes, and you share stuff, and that’s it. No one comes in with a five-second ad. No one tries to extract your attention against your will. It’s a set of bilateral relationships, voluntarily entered to, in a space that is noncommercial.

And that’s the other thing we really need. Like, we have physical public spaces that are noncommercial, and they are so vital, whether that’s schools or libraries or parks. Increasingly, the internet is just totally captured by commercial spaces. And it used to be entirely noncommercial, and now it’s entirely commercial. And those commercial spaces will ultimately further the kind of extractive attention capitalism I’m critiquing. But there are ways to create—and the group chat right now is the chief among them—noncommercial spaces of digital connection.

Rosin: Okay, everyone listening, go do more group chats. Just go engage in your group chats. And Chris, thank you so much for joining me today. Thank you for writing this book and explaining this all to us.

Hayes: Thank you for reading it. It really means a lot to me and thank you for having me.

[Music]

Rosin: This episode was produced by Kevin Townsend and edited by Claudine Ebeid. Rob Smierciak engineered, and Ena Alvarado fact-checked. Claudine Ebeid is the executive producer of Atlantic audio, and Andrea Valdez is our managing editor.

My thanks again to Chris Hayes for joining me. His new book is The Sirens’ Call: How Attention Became the World’s Most Endangered Resource.

This is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here.

Our editors compiled a list of seven absorbing reads for your weekend. Spend time with stories about the secretive world of extreme fishing, new approaches to aging, and more.

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The Army of God Comes Out of the Shadows

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America Needs to Radically Rethink What It Means to Be Old

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As 100-year lifespans become more common, the time has come for a new approach to school, work, and retirement.

Inside the Dangerous, Secretive World of Extreme Fishing

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Americans Need to Party More

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We’re not doing it as much as we used to. You can be the change we need.

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The Agony of Texting With Men

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The Week Ahead

Season 2 of The Recruit, an action series about a young CIA lawyer who becomes embroiled in an international conflict (streaming on Netflix on Thursday) Dog Man, an animated film in the Captain Underpants universe about a police officer who is fused with his dog in a lifesaving surgery (in theaters Friday) The Sirens’ Call, a book by the MSNBC host Chris Hayes about how attention became the world’s most endangered resource (out Tuesday)

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Vivek, the son of U.S. Vice President J. D. Vance, attends the inaugural parade inside Capital One Arena. (Carlos Barria / Reuters)

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The worst page on the internet begins innocently enough. A small button beckons the user to “Click me.” When they do, the game commences. The player’s score, or “stimulation,” appears in the middle of the screen, and goes up with every subsequent click. These points can then be used to buy new features for the page—a CNN-style news ticker with questionable headlines (“CHILD STAR STEALS HEARTS, FACES PRISON”), a Gmail inbox, a true-crime podcast that plays in the background, a day-trading platform, and more. Engaging with these items—checking your email, answering a Duolingo trivia question, buying and selling stocks—earns the player more points to unlock even more features.

So far, so fun. But fast-forward 20 minutes and somehow what began with a few curious clicks has turned into a frenetic effort to juggle ever more absurd online tasks. You must continuously empty your inbox, open treasure chests to collect loot, crush pastries with a hydraulic press, purchase cryptocurrency, and even take care of a digital pet, all while YouTube influencers doing exercise routines and eating giant sandwiches vie for your attention elsewhere on-screen. By the end, you have forgotten why you started playing but feel compelled to continue. A chat box pops up in the corner, in which virtual viewers comment on your performance. “How is this your job?” one asks, sounding suspiciously like my wife.

The name of this monstrosity, which was released earlier this month, is Stimulation Clicker, and it is more than a game. It is a reenactment of the evolution of the internet, a loving parody of its contents, and a pointed commentary on how our online life went wrong. In bringing each element of the web to life and layering them on top of one another, the game ingeniously re-creates the paradox of the modern internet: Individually, the components are enjoyable. But collectively, they are unbearable. When everything on the internet demands attention, paying attention to anything becomes impossible.

[Read: Beyond doomscrolling]

The game is the bizarre brainchild of Neal Agarwal, a 26-year-old programmer who has spent years designing online apps that comment on and satirize digital conventions. The Password Game asks players to input a strong password that follows an initially familiar set of rules: letters, a number, a special character. But soon users are instructed to add steadily more preposterous elements, such as “the current phase of the moon as an emoji,” corporate sponsors, and “today’s Wordle answer.” Earth Reviews parodies the star-based evaluations that have overrun the internet by allowing visitors to rate dozens of common items and experiences, including “acne” (1.3 stars, 217,181 ratings) and “grandmothers” (4.6 stars, 160,847 ratings). Other projects have educational components. Space Elevator lets the reader scroll upward from the Earth into the stratosphere, learning about the history of flight, space travel, and astronomy along the way. The Deep Sea does the same, but for the ocean.

Taken together, Agarwal’s creations have racked up hundreds of millions of views, enough for him to make expanding his menagerie of online oddities his full-time job. And for Stimulation Clicker, he pulled out all the stops. He hired voice actors to produce a 45-minute true-crime podcast about a woman who worked as a mermaid. He got real-world streamers and influencers to record themselves for inclusion. He even roped in the announcer from the best-selling Halo video-game franchise to reprise his role here.

The result is a remarkable rendering of how digital life has gone off the rails. With every new feature that is introduced, Stimulation Clicker takes players on the all-too-familiar journey from “this is neat” to “this is ruining my life.” What was once novel becomes oppressive, because when every online experience is optimized to monopolize our attention, the feeling that is ultimately evoked is not elation but exhaustion.

[Chris Hayes: You’re being alienated from your own attention]

The idea for the game first occurred to Agarwal during the coronavirus-pandemic lockdown, when life moved online and “there were definitely days that felt like Stimulation Clicker,” he told me. “You have a million different social-media feeds and everything’s pulling you in every different direction at once, and it’s almost like a feeling of vertigo,” he recalled. “I wanted to capture that experience of just endless bombardment, which I feel like is kind of the defining feature of the internet at the moment.”

In this, Stimulation Clicker succeeds. But although the game might seem like a dark commentary on the corruption of the internet, it’s also a hopeful demonstration of how to recover the internet’s promise. After all, what Stimulation Clicker does is use the experiential quality of an online game to help users understand what the web is doing to them. The game explains something that many people feel when using the internet, but can’t quite express.

“I’m very much a believer that the web is a creative medium,” Agarwal told me. “We have amazing movies that get you to reflect on life, and I don’t see why a website can’t also be like that. But right now it feels like the web is very underutilized in that way.” He doesn’t come to condemn the internet, but to rescue it from algorithms and mass marketers.

“I’m not saying the web is terrible and kids should never use technology,” he said. “It’s more of a feeling of, like, I know the web can be better than it currently is.” In that sense, Stimulation Clicker doesn’t just epitomize what ails the internet; it is also an antidote.

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Within hours of taking office on Monday, Donald Trump released a raft of executive orders addressing targets he’d gone after throughout his campaign, such as immigration, government spending, and DEI. He issued full pardons for 1,500 January 6 rioters, and signed the first eight executive orders—of dozens so far—in front of a cheering crowd in a sports arena. But amid the deluge of actions, Trump also signed an executive order that takes aim at his own federal bureaucracy—and allows his perceived enemies within the government to be investigated and punished.

The executive order, titled “Ending the Weaponization of the Federal Government,” opens by stating as fact that the Biden administration and its allies used the government to take action against political opponents. Democrats, it says, “engaged in an unprecedented, third-world weaponization of prosecutorial power to upend the democratic process.” Its stated purpose, to establish “a process to ensure accountability for the previous administration’s weaponization of the Federal Government against the American people,” reads like a threat. The order calls out particular targets, including the Department of Justice and the Federal Trade Commission—agencies that Trump and his supporters allege betrayed them under President Joe Biden. Trump’s team, led by whoever is appointed attorney general and director of national intelligence, will be sniffing out what it determines to be signs of political bias. These officials will be responsible for preparing reports to be submitted to the president, with recommendations for “appropriate remedial actions.”

What exactly those remedial actions would look like is not clear. The vagueness of the order could result in a “long-running, desultory ‘investigation,’” Quinta Jurecic, a fellow in governance studies at the Brookings Institution and a contributing writer to The Atlantic, told me in an email.

But the information gathered in such investigations could lead to some federal employees being publicly criticized or otherwise punished by Trump. And beyond theatrics, this order could open the door to the “prosecutions that Trump has threatened against his political opponents,” Jurecic noted. Put another way: In an executive order suggesting that Biden’s administration weaponized the government, Trump is laying out how his administration could do the same.

Trump’s Cabinet is still taking shape, and whoever ends up in the top legal and intelligence roles will influence how this order is executed. Pam Bondi, Trump’s attorney-general pick, is an established loyalist with long-standing ties to Trump (he reportedly considered her for the role in his first term, but worried that her past scandals would impede her confirmation). Bondi, in her first Senate confirmation hearing last week, attempted to downplay Trump’s persistent rhetoric on retribution, and avoided directly answering questions about how she, as head of the Justice Department, would engage with his plans to punish enemies. She said that she wouldn’t entertain hypotheticals about the president, though she did claim that “there will never be an enemies list within the Department of Justice.” Tulsi Gabbard, Trump’s nominee for director of national intelligence, has a history of political shape-shifting, though she has lately shown fealty to MAGA world.

Well before Trump took office, his allies were signaling their interest in turning federal bureaucracy, which they deride as “the deep state,” into a system driven by unquestioning loyalty to the president. As my colleague Russell Berman wrote in 2023, some conservatives have argued, without even cloaking “their aims in euphemisms about making government more effective and efficient,” that bureaucrats should be loyal to Trump. Russ Vought, the nominee for director of the Office of Management and Budget (an unflashy but powerful federal position), who today appeared before Congress for the second time, has previously written that the executive branch should use “boldness to bend or break the bureaucracy to the presidential will.”

The executive order on weaponizing the federal government is consistent with the goals of retribution that Trump expressed on the campaign trail. And accusing rivals of using the government for personal ends has been a favored Republican tactic in recent years. Still, this order confirms that, now that he is back in office, Trump will have no qualms toggling the levers of executive power to follow through on his promises of revenge. Many of Trump’s executive actions this week are sending a clear message: If you are loyal, you are protected. If not, you may be under attack.

Related:

Trump’s pardons are sending a crystal-clear message. Why 2025 is different from 2017

Here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

Trump’s second term might have already peaked. The attack on birthright citizenship is a big test for the Constitution. You’re being alienated from your own attention, Chris Hayes writes.

Today’s News

A shooter killed at least one student and injured another before killing himself at Antioch High School in Nashville. Donald Trump said last night that by February 1, he would place a 10 percent tariff on Chinese products. He has also pledged to put a 25 percent tariff on products from Canada and Mexico by the same date. An Israeli military assault in the occupied West Bank began yesterday, killing at least 10 people and injuring 40 others, according to the Palestinian Health Ministry.

Evening Read

Illustration by Akshita Chandra / The Atlantic. Source: Getty

Be Like Sisyphus

By Gal Beckerman

This anxious century has not given people much to feel optimistic about—yet most of us resist pessimism. Things must improve. They will get better. They have to. But when it comes to the big goals—global stability, a fair economy, a solution for the climate crisis—it can feel as if you’ve been pushing a boulder up a hill only to see it come rolling back down, over and over: all that distance lost, all that huffing and puffing wasted. The return trek to the bottom of the hill is long, and the boulder just sits there, daring you to start all over—if you’re not too tired.

Read the full article.

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Watch. I’m Still Here (out now in select theaters) tempts viewers into a comforting lull before pulling the rug out from under them, David Sims writes.

Examine. In an age of ideological conformity and technological brain-suck, the world needs more disobedient artists and thinkers, Jacob Howland writes.

Play our daily crossword.

Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

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For more than a decade, I have hosted an hour-long cable TV show on MSNBC. When I got my own show, I imagined it as something akin to the experience of first-time car ownership. I could drive wherever I wanted to drive; although I would have to obey the law, I just had to figure out where I wanted to go, push the pedal, and go. I could cover whatever I thought was most important, whenever I wanted, for as long as I wanted.

I learned quickly, it doesn’t work like that. A cable-news show is powered by attention. It has no internal combustion engine to make it go. Yes, you can cover whatever you desire, night after night, but if no one watches it, the show will be canceled. This is what almost happened to me.

After a lot of trial and error, I now view audience attention as something like the wind that powers a sailboat. It’s a real phenomenon, independent of the boat, and you can successfully sail only if you harness it. You don’t turn the boat into the wind, but you also don’t simply allow the wind to set your course. You figure out where you want to go (in the case of my show, what you think is important for people to know), you identify which way the wind is blowing, and then, using your skills and the tools of the boat, you tack back and forth to manage to arrive at your destination using that wind power.

This essay has been adapted from Hayes’ new book, The Sirens’ Call.

This experience has given me a certain perspective on how attention functions. Every moment of my work life revolves around answering the question of how we capture attention. And it just so happens that the constant pursuit of others’ attention is no longer just for professionals like myself.

[Read: A ‘radical’ approach to reclaiming your attention]

Attention is a kind of resource: It has value, and if you can seize it, you seize that value. This has been true for a very long time. Charismatic leaders and demagogues, showmen, preachers, great salespeople, marketers, advertisers, and holy men and women who rallied disciples have all used the power of attention to accrue wealth and power. What has changed is attention’s relative importance. Those who successfully extract it command fortunes, win elections, and topple regimes. The battle to control what we pay attention to at any given instant structures our inner life—who and what we listen to, how and when we are present to those we love—and our collective public lives: which pressing matters of social concern are debated and legislated, which are neglected; which deaths are loudly mourned, which are quietly forgotten. Every single aspect of human life across the broadest categories of human organization is being reoriented around the pursuit of attention. It is now the defining resource of our age.

The rearrangement of social and economic conditions around the pursuit of attention is a transformation as profound as the dawn of industrial capitalism and the creation of wage labor as the central form of human toil. Attention now exists as a commodity in the same way labor did in the early years of industrial capitalism. What had previously been regarded as human effort was converted into a commodity with a price. People had always “worked” in one way or another, but that work was not embedded in a complicated system that turned the work into a market good. This transition from “work” to “labor” was, for many, both punishing and strange. The worker, Karl Marx observed in Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, “does not feel content but unhappy, does not develop freely his physical and mental energy but mortifies his body and ruins his mind. The worker therefore only feels himself outside his work, and in his work feels outside himself.”

This was the fundamental insight of Marx’s theory of labor and alienation: that a social system had been erected to coercively extract something from people that had previously, in a deep sense, been theirs. Even today, those words feel fresh. The sense of dislocation and being outside oneself. The inability, even amid what is ostensibly boundless choice and freedom—What do you want to watch tonight, babe?—to “develop freely” our mental energy. The trapped quality of the worker caught in a system he did not construct and from which he cannot extricate himself.

The epochal shift of industrial capitalism required what Marx described as the commodification of labor. Labor—what we do with our body and mind, the product of our effort and exertion—is quite an alienating thing to have turned into a market commodity. The transmutation of what had always been “work” or “things humans did for specific purposes” into “labor” as a category of activity with a price required an entire transformation of the structure of society and the daily experience of human life.

Indeed, to extract labor from a person, you need to compensate them through wages, coerce them, or use violence—such as the overseer’s whip—to force it out of them. All these methods have been used. But the extraction of our attention happens in a different way. People can be forced to work in all kinds of cruel and oppressive ways, but they cannot be forced to do it purely through the manipulation of their preconscious faculties. If someone puts a gun to your head and tells you to dig a ditch, you know you are being coerced. If someone fires a gun in the air, your attention will instantly shift to the sound even before you can fully grasp what’s happening.

This feature of attention—that it can be taken from us at a purely sensory level, before our conscious will even gets to weigh in—makes it a strange and powerful force. Attention is the stuff of consciousness itself, where we choose to place our mind’s focus at any given moment. And yet it can always be wrenched from us seemingly against our will by the wail of the siren, the bark of a dog, or the flash of a prurient image on our phone. The more competitive an attention market it is, the more it will select for involuntary methods of capturing attention. Think of Times Square with its blinding lights, or a casino floor or a supermarket checkout counter. More and more, our entire lives have come to resemble those spaces.

Centering attention as a resource and understanding both its existential primacy and its increasing social, political, and economic domination is the key to understanding disparate aspects of 21st-century life. Attention comes prior to other aspects of speech and communication that we associate with power—persuasion, argumentation, information. Before you can persuade, you must capture attention: “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!” Before you inform, insult, or seduce, you must make sure that your voice doesn’t end up in the muted background static that is 99.9 percent of speech directed our way. Public discourse is now a war of all against all for attention. Commerce is a war for attention. Social life is a war for attention. Parenting is a war for attention. And we are all feeling battle weary.

The trajectory of Elon Musk is a perfect fable for the attention age. By the third decade of the 21st century, Musk was the richest man on Earth. He had every material and financial resource, enough to purchase anything that the totality of human history up until that point could produce to be bought or owned by one man. And yet he was willing to trade it all for attention.

Not at first—for a good portion of his early career, Musk was relatively press shy. But then, like so many, he joined Twitter. He posted more and more, with greater degrees of pathetic desperation, until he made the most expensive impulse purchase in history, buying the platform for a wildly overvalued $44 billion.

Perhaps having realized how much he had overpaid, Musk then tried to back out, but facing a lawsuit from Twitter and a potentially disastrous trial, he was all but forced to complete the sale. Although he made all kinds of high-minded noises about free speech and diversity of viewpoints, it became immediately clear from his incessant, compulsive posting and trolling that what he really wanted was to be Twitter’s Main Character.

In becoming Twitter’s Main Character, though, he boosted vile and false conspiracy theories about a savage attack on the husband of the House speaker, mocked the notion that a mass shooter with literal swastika tattoos could possibly be a white supremacist, and consistently boosted racist posts about the inherent criminality of Black people and degrading tweets about trans people.

This did succeed in getting Musk attention: He was always one of Twitter’s top stories, and his antics even became a fixation of mainstream news coverage. But all of this was a bit much for many Twitter users. Crucially, advertisers began to pull back, and then flee en masse. By May 2023, seven months after Musk bought Twitter for $44 billion, Fidelity Investments estimated the platform’s total worth to be just $15 billion. To most observers, this looked as though Musk had lit nearly $30 billion on fire, but he had used it to purchase something: the world’s attention. It was more valuable to him than anything else.

When asked by a CNBC interviewer why he was constantly sending such tweets as “[George] Soros hates humanity,” Musk—with a little extra pause for effect—said, “There’s a scene in The Princess Bride—great movie—where he confronts the person who killed his father. And he says, ‘Offer me money. Offer me power. I don’t care’ … I’ll say what I want to say, and if the consequence of that is losing money, then so be it.” Although it was cloaked in principle, what Musk was really saying was The attention is worth it to me. There is quite literally nothing I value more.

But if Musk was sent on this trajectory through sheer broken need, carried along by compulsion, in his brokenness he stumbled on the simple truth that to control the attention of others is to exert power. His pursuit of Twitter might have started as a form of addiction, but it has transformed into a strategy. His obsession with attention cost him billions of dollars in the beginning, but it has now helped him elect a president, positioned him to influence government policy, and increased his fortune.

And in this, Musk is an extreme example, but he is by no means alone. What you can see throughout his generational cohort is the same thirsty, grasping desire for attention: Silicon Valley billionaires starting their own podcasts, like the hosts of All In, or posting compulsively, like the hedge-fund billionaire Bill Ackman. This age’s new plutocrats are obsessed, for understandable reasons, with attention.

If attention is the substance of life, then the question of what we pay attention to is the question of what our lives will be. And here we come to a foundational question that is far harder to answer than we might like it to be. What do we want to pay attention to? If we didn’t have all the technologies and corporations vying for our attention, if our attention wasn’t being commodified and extracted, what would we affirmatively choose to pay attention to?

You hear complaints about the gap between what we want to pay attention to and what we end up paying attention to all the time in the attention age. Someone ambitiously brings three new novels on vacation and comes back having read only a third of one of them because she was sucked into scrolling through Instagram. Reading is a particular focus of these complaints, I find. Everyone, including myself, complains that they can’t read long books anymore. We have a sense that our preferences haven’t changed—I still like to read—just our behavior. And the reason our behavior has changed is that someone has taken something from us. Someone has subtly, insidiously coerced us.

But maybe we have multiple selves who want different things—a self who wants to read, a self who wants to scroll. There’s a tension here between different aspects of the self that can be hard to reconcile. We contend with what our superego wants (to go on vacation and read novels) and what our actual self does (scrolls through Instagram). As is so often the case, our revealed preferences are different from our stated ones. And who is to say what our real and true desire is?

So much of modern self-help is geared toward closing the gap between what we say we want and value and how we act. And here, in the instant-to-instant unfolding of our inner lives, we can imagine a similar project, at least at the individual level. The solution, to the extent that there is one, to alienation caused by this gap between what we pay attention to and what we want to pay attention to is to begin with the question of what we actually want. If you had full power over your own attention, a kind of X-Men-style hyperfocus that could, at will, always be directed on whatever you chose, for as long as you chose, what would you do with this superpower?

I have to say that I think most people would offer a fairly similar set of answers. I would focus on my family and friends, my hobbies and interests, things that bring me joy, personal projects—whether taking photos, gardening, or building a deck—that give me satisfaction.

We are not required to suffer under the current form of attention capitalism forever, or even for that much longer. We can create alternative markets for attention, alternative institutions, and businesses that create models different from those that now dominate. We can also create noncommercial spaces where we can pay attention to one another, our hobbies, and our interests and communities without that attention being captured, bought, and sold. And there is yet another path forward that is more radical than these other approaches, one that fundamentally relies on people voluntarily creating new alternatives: We can regulate attention.

If we look back to the labor movements of the 19th century, they came to advocate for two particularly rudimentary and fundamental forms of regulation: a ban on child labor and limitations on total hours worked. Neither of these restrictions seemed obvious and commonsense at the time, at least not to the titans of industry and politicians who fought them. Moving governments toward these goals took a tremendous amount of political mobilization, agitation, and persuasion.

[Megan Garber: The great fracturing of American attention]

What if we viewed attention in similar terms? It’s obviously not a perfect analogy, but a lot is similar. In the legal context, one of the biggest challenges is that attention is a difficult thing to regulate because in the United States it is so connected to, and difficult to sever from, speech. The First Amendment provides extremely strong speech protections, and any attempts to regulate attention—telling social-media companies how they can and can’t operate, for instance—inevitably raise profound First Amendment questions. But there are ways to regulate attention that plausibly sidestep the speech question by simply imposing non-viewpoint-specific limitations that apply across the board.

There are already bills in state legislatures and in Congress that would create legal age minimums for social-media platforms. Although the details vary, as a general matter this seems obvious and sensible. We as a society can say that children’s attention should not be sold and commodified in the aggressive and alienating fashion of current social-media networks. Just as 12-year-olds can’t really consent to a wage contract, we could argue they can’t really consent to the expropriation of their attention in the way that, say, Instagram exploits it.

But what about adults? What if we decided to apply the basic lessons of labor law to attention and simply impose limits on how much attention can be monetized from us? I am fully aware that heavy-handed regulation of attention markets, such as a cap on hours of use, would face steep political and legal opposition. But there’s another way to view efforts to regulate the marketing of our attention.

One of the earliest slogans pushing the eight-hour workday was “Eight hours for work, eight hours for sleep, and eight hours for what we will.” It feels as if more and more of that leisure time is now taken from us, not willed by us. Our control over the space of our mind, stolen. Are we really spending the precious hours of our waking, nonworking lives doing “what we will”? Or has the conquering logic of the market penetrated our quietest, most intimate moments?

We don’t have to accept this. It does not need to be this way. We must use every tool and strategy imaginable to wrest back our will, to create a world in which we point our attention where we—the willful, conscious “we”—want it to go. A world where we can function and flourish as full human beings, as liberated souls, unlashed from the mast, our ears unplugged and open, listening to the lapping of the waves, making our way back home to the people we love, the sound of sirens safely in the distance.

This essay has been adapted from Chris Hayes’ new book, The Sirens’ Call.