Eminent Americans

Daniel Oppenheimer

Eminent Americans is a podcast about the writers and public intellectuals who either are key players in the American intellectual scene or who typify an important aspect of it. It also touches on broader themes and trends in the discourse. danieloppenheimer.substack.com

  1. 18h ago

    Birth of the A(I)uthor

    My guest on the show today is Tuhin Chakrabarty, an assistant professor of computer science at Stony Brook University and the culprit behind my first ever trigger warning on eminent Americans. Here we go: if a big part of your identity is vested in being a writer, and you are already experiencing existential dread about the prospect of AI getting better than you at writing, you may want to not listen to this podcast, or at least you may need to take a Xanax or a gummy before listening. Because Tuhin’s work, training AI to produce super high quality samples of high literary writing, is existentially threatening. It goes right at the heart of what we wordsmiths do. Just to give a sense, here’s a passage from a New Yorker article by Vauhini Vara that explores what Tuhin has found: I asked Chakrabarty to run an informal version of his experiment on my writing, with a twist: I would pit his model directly against me. To start, he fine-tuned a model on my published writing, much as he’d done in the formal experiment. Then I sent him four short excerpts from a novel that I’m currently writing. No one else had read these excerpts; they had never been published or circulated. There was no way that a large language model could have seen them before. The narrator of my novel in progress is an Indian American ex-journalist. She runs a nonprofit that publishes stories from immigrant and refugee women, but it’s strapped for funding, so she courts an Indian American venture capitalist as a potential donor. Chakrabarty used an L.L.M. to create content summaries of the excerpts I’d sent him. (One representative sentence, from a summary about the narrator’s journaling habit, explains, “A pivotal memory is introduced: in ninth grade, the narrator’s mother read this journal, an act seen as a profound betrayal.”) Finally, he gave the summaries to his fine-tuned model, and he asked it to compose passages “in the style of Vauhini Vara.” Going into all this, I was self-assured, even smug. I’d always felt that my style was original and, more important, that my books were totally distinct from one another. I figured that, even if the A.I. model could imitate my past books, it couldn’t predict the style of the novel in progress. So, when Chakrabarty sent me the A.I.-generated imitations, I was genuinely confused. Like Díaz and Nunez, I found lots of stylistic details—rhythm, verbiage—annoying. But the text produced by the model was eerily close to mine. Reading some of its lines next to my own, I couldn’t remember which was which. Unlike Díaz or Nunez, I even preferred some of the doppelgänger’s versions. My style seemed to be more consistent across projects than I’d realized. I sent four passages to some readers who’d liked my previous books, explaining that half were mine and half were the model’s. I wanted them to guess which were which. … The first of my readers to respond was Dana Mauriello, my best friend from college and an accomplished tech entrepreneur. “Truth: this was terrifying!” she wrote. “I was so nervous that I would say that AI wrote something that you wrote, and you would be insulted!!!” Her anxiety, it turned out, was justified. She didn’t get any of them right. Dana blamed this partly on her not being a writer. But, of my seven readers, none correctly identified more than half the passages. One of the last people I heard from was the novelist Karan Mahajan, a professor of literary arts at Brown University. He and I learned to write together in college, along with Tony Tulathimutte, and have been sharing drafts with each other ever since. He’s among the most perceptive writers and readers I’ve met. “Oof, this was really confusing and mindmelting,” Karan wrote. Then he, too, misidentified all four excerpts. To be clear, Tuhin isn’t claiming that AI, except under the very specific, rather contrived circumstances of his experiments, can already match the best human writers. And he doesn’t know if they ever will be able to match or surpass us. I don’t know how much consolation that affords, though; what he has done is threatening enough. Moreover, in this episode we’re doing what is sometimes the most anxiety producing thing of all when it comes to fraught questions: We’re sitting in the uncertainty, and poking at it. How does his method work? What does and doesn’t it prove? Why did he think to do it in the first place? What are its implications? What technical challenges would need to be solved for it to move from short samples, where detailed plot points and themes are provided by a human, to actually generating a full book with just a short prompt or a broad outline? And what are we human writers owed if it’s our work, used as training data, that creates the conditions for being superseded by AI? Etc. I wrote a long essay, not too long ago, about my intuition that most of the fiercest responses to AI out there, both from the hardcore boosters and the hardcore haters, are flip sides of the same coin. They’re dysfunctional manifestations of the anxiety that so many of us have right now in the face of what may be an extinction level event not so much in the Skynet takes over the world sense but of a more existential sort. We may soon be deprived of some of the core ways we’ve understood what it means to be distinctively human, how we’ve constructed our unique purpose as humans. Because of this fear, Tuhin has gotten a bit of hate for what he’s done and shown, but from my perspective he’s dealing with the existential threat we face in exactly the right way, the psychologically functional way. He’s looking directly at it. He’s rejecting both utopian boosterism and head in the sand denialism as strategies of evasion. He’s being creative with the thing itself. And he’s thinking in super pragmatic ways about how to best serve human interests in the long run. And not just thinking about that but doing something concrete and positive about it, collaborating with legal scholars on how to think about and craft policies that protect and compensate authors. So I’m sorry to stoke your anxieties, dear listeners, if that’s what we do, but I’m not sorry I had Tuhin on the show. He’s a fascinating and flexible thinker, a hard core computer scientist and a true lover of literature. Also: Eminent Americans, my sweet baby, is now produced in collaboration with the John C. Danforth Center on Religion and Politics at Washington University in St. Louis, and is distributed through its publication, Arc Magazine. You can find all of Arc’s podcasts and much more online at arcmag.org. Hope you enjoy the show, and that the radiant beams of humanity and thoughtfulness that Tuhin and I generate between us don’t just soothe your anxiety but ultimately help you to process it. Peace. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit danieloppenheimer.substack.com/subscribe

  2. Jul 23

    The Psychedelic I

    I had the good fortune to be joined on this episode by the redoubtable Sheila Heti, award-winning novelist, avant-garde memoirist, incisive essayist, and all-around Canadian woman of letters. I asked Sheila to come on the show after I read “Good Medicine,” her recent essay in Granta, which is the report of her experience taking a series of guided psychedelic trips. It is also, though she didn’t set out with this in mind, a kind of midlife crisis essay, reflecting on where she’s been, where she’s going, what’s left for her, and so on. One thing that really struck me about the essay is that it really is, in the most basic way, a report on her experience. It’s here’s what she did, here’s what she felt, here’s who she met, here’s what came up psychologically during her trips, here’s what she felt like in its aftermath. And when a piece of writing feels so plain but so effortlessly holds your interest and propels you through the length of it, you know, if you’re somebody who’s tried your hand at writing yourself, that you’re in the hands of someone who has an exquisite command of language, and also that it’s who doesn’t need to prove it to you with every sentence she writes or every essay or story or novel. So I just appreciated that. I appreciated the craft of it. It also just vibed for me because a lot of the issues that she ends up confronting during the course of her trips are ones that I face, too. We also had some great conversation about other topics of interest to both of us, including clothing and fashion, class, money, success, and our mutual affection for the late, great essayist and critic Dave Hickey, who was a benevolent, generous, cantankerous spirit in both of our lives. So I really enjoyed this conversation, which was the official first episode of the second phase of an anticipated eight-phase journey of this podcast. As of this episode, Eminent Americans is produced in collaboration with the John C. Danforth Center on Religion and Politics at Washington University in St. Louis, and is distributed through its publication, Arc Magazine . You can find all of Arc's podcasts and much more online at arcmag.org. This won't change much about what I'm doing here. You'll now get some dulcet-toned promos for Arc and its flagship podcast. The occasional guest on my podcast will be someone who's written something recently for the magazine, or otherwise has something interesting or compelling to say about a topic the magazine has covered. Otherwise, though, we'll keep on keeping on Eminent Americans style. Peace. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit danieloppenheimer.substack.com/subscribe

  3. Jul 20

    The David Sessions Session

    My guest on the show today is returning guest and all-around friend of the pod David Sessions, a Boston-based freelance writer and the co-host, along with Blake Smith, of the relatively new Off Christopher Street Podcast and and Substack newsletter, about the history and present of gay male life and culture in America. David, Blake and I have recorded a crossover episode of Eminent Americans that focuses on their new endeavor, which should be out in the next month or two or three, but on this episode David and I are talking pornography, its ubiquity, the effect it may or may not have on our culture and kids, and related issues around technology, moral panic, and modern life. A few key differences between the two of us structure the discussion. One is our ages. David is 40. I’m now 50, and though it’s not a huge difference from one angle, it represents a fundamentally different generational growing up experience when it comes the internet, social media, and smart phones, none of which I basically had growing up, all of which David got relatively early on. Another is kids. I have three of them. David doesn’t have any. And a third is our backgrounds. I’m from a liberal secular Jewish home in the northeast where sex was discussed pretty openly, and porn wasn’t permitted but wasn’t really stigmatized either. David grew up in what he describes as a deeply conservative, Christian-nationalist home. He went to a Christian college, married a good Christian woman, and then came out as gay in his mid-thirties. One consequence of that background, for David, is that he’s unusually attuned to some of the ways that mainstream discourse around issues like porn, smart phones, the internet, and social media has been influenced by savvy right wing Christian groups, who recognized pretty early on that if they wanted to move the mainstream they would have to find rhetorical frames that weren’t aversive to establishment media. So instead of sin and god and traditional values they talk about public health harms, addiction, exploitation, objectification of women, etc. So David comes to these debates with an awareness of how they’ve often been covertly shaped by religious groups and motives. He also has the experience, as a gay man, of living a pretty flourishing social life that is enabled in all sorts of positive ways by the technologies that a concerned parent like me can easily fall into perceiving as purely pernicious. And one last thing I want to bring up, which I think is important as context for this conversation, is that so many of the discussions around the effects of tech on kids lack a real perspective on how it plays out differently depending on the socioeconomic class of the kids in question. Who is really speaking for, or from, the kids who aren’t living with the kind of social and cultural capital that David and I both, albeit in very different ways, had growing up. Two parent homes, relatively intact communities, financially secure, high parental investment, and so on. David and I, and my kids, and his kids if he has them, have been or will be raised with psychological protective factor layered on top of psychological protective factor. What about the kids who don’t have all that? Are we condescending to their parents in imagining that their kids are just at the mercy of the evil tech gods, that they’re not able to sufficiently protect and nurture them. Or, alternatively, are we just basically ignoring them when we have these discussions, as elites, as though their kids are just like our kids, having basically the same experiences. I don’t know, and David doesn’t either, and – and this is maybe the worst part – who would I even turn to to help me answer it? So that’s in the background of this conversation too. Two quick housekeeping notes. The first is a thanks to Joshua Howard for manfully editing this episode, as he has the last few. The second is that this the last episode of what I will retrospectively refer to as the scrappy, underground, indie era of this podcast. Starting in a week or two, I’ll be launching a partnership with Arc Magazine, which is published out of the John C. Danforth Center on Religion and Politics at Washington University in St. Louis. I’ll say more about that when we officially launch, but one thing I’ll say now is that Arc’s touch on the content and vibe of the show will be very very light. Occasionally I’ll have on a guest who is doing something for the magazine, there will be brief promos for other Arc content, and I hope to do some fun experiments that I didn’t have the bandwidth to do when it was just me and producer Robert. For the most part, though, I’m going to go about my business as I’ve done for the last few years. I’ll have on whoever I want. We’ll talk about whatever I want. And I’ll swear whenever I f*****g want. Peace. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit danieloppenheimer.substack.com/subscribe

  4. Jul 7

    Who Killed the American Man?

    My guest on the show today, our special Fourth of July sesquicentennial episode, is Jacob Siegel. He's a writer and editor at Tablet Magazine, an Iraq and Afghanistan vet, co-host of the Manifesto! podcast, and author of the new book, The Information State, which we don’t discuss on the episode. Our topic, instead, is the “The Disappearing American Man,” the first installment of a column that Jacob is now writing for Tablet. To give you a sense of the essay, which is slightly to the left or maybe to the right or just below or above the typical crisis of masculinity polemic, here’s a particularly pungent passage from it: What I see in many prominent and representative American men today is a dribbling sludge of bitterness. A peacocking display of impotence, debility, worminess, insincerity, lack of competence, lack of confidence, lack of élan, pettiness, selfishness, scheming, and self-pity. Not all men, as the saying goes, but enough to pass a civilizational tipping point. The young men standing up at town hall meetings are almost pompous in their bitterness. The anonymous posters online have turned cattiness and petty sadism into a group erotic ritual. The politicians are embittered, the podcasters are embittered, even the popular comedians are embittered. Probably the comedians are the most bitter of all. Much of this bitterness seems to stem from an ambient feeling of betrayal. Today’s American man knows that he has been wronged. By globalist elites and international pedophile rings or else by his own toxic masculinity. By immigrants or perhaps by his innate racism. By “woke capital”; diversity, equity, and inclusion; greedy billionaires; and unappreciative modern women. And by the Jews, of course. Always by the Jews. So that's just a taste. It's a pretty intense, hard-charging essay. I would say there's more or less two overlapping arguments in the essay. One is about this bitterness as it's expressed in the more venomous, less inhibited regions of the right, which Siegel traces to the effects of the failed wars after 9/11, the thesis being something like: when the globe-bestriding American military colossus can't beat a bunch of goat herders, it powerfully undermines the projective identity that so many men, and particularly men on the right, have had with American military power. Its power is our power, is how they felt, and so then when its power is undermined so thoroughly, it strikes right at the core of people's identity, their sense of themselves as men. And what some people did with that searing sense of impotence was to turn it not just against the left, which is traditional right-wing move, but against the American soldier himself, and then behind him against what the American soldier traditionally has represented, which is American power, American might, American manliness. Attached to that is a historical narrative, a quite conspiratorial one, that the long period that most of us think of as a kind of golden age of American power and manliness, from the end of WW II to the end of the Cold War, was in fact a long, deep con perpetrated by the globalists on the real American men, who were its innocent victims. All that time that we thought we were powerful, by virtue of our affiliation and identification with American power, we were in fact being manipulated and betrayed. (Jacob and I wouldn’t say “we,” of course, since as Jews we were perpetrators of the con, not its victims.) So that's argument one, and the other argument, which I think is downstream of that one, is that an effect of all that — the loss of the wars, the cultural and political reaction to it — is that the cultural ideal of the American man has become exhausted. That figure who stood a certain way, held a cigarette a certain way, often looked on the world with a certain cool disdain, has died or at least has gone conspicuously silent. An archetype that was capacious enough over the decades to manifest in figures as diverse as manly Hemingway, the dandy Gatsby, the stoic Marlboro Man, swaggering Muhammad Ali, and the alienated Kurt Cobain seems no longer to be producing new manifestations of itself. The world spirit has abandoned him/us. Then braiding through these two arguments is Jacob’s own story of being in the wars. He did 15 months in Iraq, and then after some years in which he rather failed to figure out life as a civilian, he signed up again and went to Afghanistan. And it was in that space, he writes, that he was able to reassemble himself in a way that could eventually go on to do some flourishing in the aftermath. The piece opens with a road trip he takes with a bunch of enlisted guys from his unit, men over whom he had command. They semi-licitly liberated a van from the motor pool, and they went to see families of two soldiers who'd been killed by an IED in their last month over there. He talks about being the only officer in this tight group of enlisted men, some of whom had some real suspicion of him. He writes about his sense of guilt and dislocation during the interregnum between his two stints. He and I talk about that. We go into his theory of how the right talked itself into treating World War II as the original sin of American betrayal, how that recasts the Greatest Generation as a bunch of cucks, how a guy like Tucker Carlson, who was such a cheerleader for the Iraq War, has re-imagined himself into a state of metaphysical victimhood and purity, and how the big story of the betrayal of the American man has a weird double-sidedness to it— the true American man is pure, because he’s not responsible for the nation’s sins, but he also has no agency. He’s a dupe, a cuck. And so on. We get deep in the shit, in other words. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Hope you do too. Peace. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit danieloppenheimer.substack.com/subscribe

  5. Jun 23

    The Notorious R.O.D.

    Damon Linker is back on the pod to talk about another former guest, the notorious R.O.D., Ray Oliver Dreher Jr. — i.e. Rod Dreher, one of the more fascinating, tragic, and infuriating writers of the Christian right over the last few decades. Linker and Dreher first met back when Linker, who is now a man of the solid center-left, was a conservative and an editor at the Catholic conservative magazine First Things. They bonded over their shared horror at the Catholic priest abuse scandal, a lot of details of which were unfolding at the time, and also over their shared frustration with various figures on the Catholic right, including some important people at First Things, who seemed to be in some kind of denial about the severity of the scandal, or if not in denial about the severity of it then intent on shifting as much blame as possible away from the Catholic Church and onto other folks or forces. The two remained friends over the next decade and a half, even as both of them went through various evolutions and migrations. Linker migrated towards the left, although not too far to the left, and Dreher went through a series of shifts, or perhaps repetitions, ever in search of some kind of structure or vessel or institution to contain or pacify his various aspirations, contradictions, and demons. A few years ago they broke, as Dreher has broken with many former friends and comrades over the decades, over what Linker would characterize as Dreher’s extremism, though they’ve been in touch a bit more recently in the aftermath of Dreher’s public denunciations of the right’s tolerance of anti-Semites within its ranks. In a recent essay, Linker writes of Dreher: I’ve written enough posts about Rod Dreher down through the years that I could almost dedicate a stand-alone section of this newsletter to him. (That’s an exaggeration, but not by much. Here is the most recent post, from just a few months ago, in which he plays an important part.) When I write something on him, my most engaged readers usually respond in comments that they used to admire Dreher and read him fruitfully but that at some point he became a reactionary and racist crank they could no longer abide. I’ve had periods when I’ve felt like that. But I keep coming back to him, even as he’s drifted further and further away from the (perhaps idiosyncratic) skeptical and pessimistic liberalism I affirm in my work. One reason why I keep coming back to Rod is that I know him personally, we developed a friendship nearly a quarter century ago, and I don’t believe in dropping friends for political reasons. There are limits to that, of course. (A friend who began telling me Adolf Hitler made a lot of good points in Mein Kampf would no longer get invited over to dinner.) But I try as best I can to exemplify the ancient virtue of liberality in my dealings with people. That means demonstrating generosity and openness to difference. But it wouldn’t be entirely honest to suggest I remain drawn to Rod purely out of a principled commitment to tolerate a longstanding friend who holds views with which I sharply disagree. The truth is that I feel like I “get” him on a deep, spiritual level. I don’t feel like I get Dreher on a spiritual level, but I do feel like I perceive him insightfully, from the outside, on a psychological level, and though my perceptions and Linker’s don’t perfectly align, they end up proving (as you’ll appreciate it you listen to our conversation) quite complementary. For both of us, Dreher is such a compellingly open wound of a person. He’s endlessly vulnerable, incredibly affable in one-on-one interactions (as I learned when I did my interview with him), reliably hysterical and apocalyptic when he’s dealing with the broad sweep of things, and also very principled in his idiosyncratic way, unable to gloss over the sins of his own side, in the name of unity, when they conflict with deeply held values of his. This all is, in other words, primo Eminent Americans content, and it was a pleasure to have Linker back on for it. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit danieloppenheimer.substack.com/subscribe

  6. Apr 21

    Non-Producer Character (NPC)

    My guest on the show today is audio producer Robert Scaramuccia, my longtime collaborator on the podcast. Robert is leaving me, as of the end of this episode, so that he can get a healthy work/life balance in place in advance of starting an MFA writing program in the fall. We talk about the things you’d expect — our experience of working together, his thoughts on Eminent Americans, his plans for the future — but we also, fortuitously, focus a fair amount on a topic that I’ve thought about addressing on the show, in the past, but have never pursued because I couldn’t see a obvious way in. It turns out that Robert is wholly fascinated with video games. Pretty much exclusively, to this point, his engagement has been as a player of them. But his hopes, going into the MFA program, is to write about them seriously, and perhaps also to produce podcasts on them. He’s really effing serious about video games. They’re important to his identity, and intellectually and aesthetically fascinating to him. They even, as we get into, played a role in him dealing with some of the emotions around the long sickness and then death of his mother when he was in college. I’ve never been a serious gamer, but some of it I get. it was part of the mix with my friends when I was growing up, now has a significant presence in the social lives of my 10 and 15 year old sons, and is just this huge thing, obviously, in the social and emotional world of boys and young men and increasingly not so young men. It also seems to me a topic that hasn’t received nearly the degree of serious literary and journalistic attention that it clearly deserves. It gets a lot of ink, in a certain sense, but so much of it is quite shallow, and so little of it seems to even begin to grasp the profound role that games and the ecosystems around them have played, and are playing, in the social and psychological lives of the people who play them.Really enjoyed the conversation. Hope you do too. Apologies in advance as the pace of release slows down for a bit. Still working on finding a new producer, and have some good leads, but for a little while at least I’ll be on my own, and so I will not be as productive. Not going away, though! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit danieloppenheimer.substack.com/subscribe

  7. Mar 26

    I Get Schooled on Marx

    My guests on today’s episode are historians Andrew Hartman and James Livingston. Andrew is a professor of history at Illinois State University and the author, most recently, of Karl Marx in America. Jim is professor emeritus of history at Rutgers University and the author, most recently, of No More Work: Why Full Employment Is a Bad Idea. I asked Andrew and Jim on the show to talk to me about Karl Marx and his continued influence on the American left. Really, if I’m being honest, I asked them on to help me solve a problem that I’ve been feeling increasingly compelled to solve, which is that I have a very strong intuition that Marxism is a profound drag on the capacity of the American left to achieve what I would like it to achieve, which is to exert meaningful power in opposition to big money in all its forms, but I am embarrassingly vague on the why or how Marx continues to exert such pull. The bosses have so, so much power in America, and I fear it’s slowly killing us, and we desperately to find a way to rebalance the scales. But precisely the kinds of people and groups to whom we’ve looked, historically, to organize fundamental resistance to the evils of big money are the ones who seem least capable of talking and acting in ways that might get the job done. And I blame Marxism for some, though certainly not all, of that incapacity. So I have all these very strong feelings, but I don’t know how to talk to the people I might hope to persuade in a language that might be persuasive to them. I could tell a story about the various sins of various Marxist movements of the last century that might be persuasive to some people — and in fact have told versions of that story — but I don’t think that that story would be persuasive to contemporary Marxist-influenced intellectuals. They know all that history, have already baked it into their perspective. What I’d need to do is talk theory to them, and I don’t really grasp the theory. And maybe even more than not understanding the theory, I don’t understand, viscerally, why people continue to be so drawn to it. I don’t grok the lived experience of being a 21st century American leftist who feels compelled to draw on Marxist concepts and language to think and talk through the problems we face. I can’t mirror those neurons. And it kind of drives me nuts. So this episode is a very selfish effort to help reduce the level of my vexedness, and I appreciate Jim and Andrew for their indulgence of me and for their uncompensated labor in bringing some clarity to my confusion.If you’re interested in learning more about Andrew’s new book, by the way, the American Prestige podcast is producing a six-part series, Marx Prestige, where Andrew and Daniel Bessner work their way through the history covered in the book. I’m looking forward to it. Peace. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit danieloppenheimer.substack.com/subscribe

4.2
out of 5
27 Ratings

About

Eminent Americans is a podcast about the writers and public intellectuals who either are key players in the American intellectual scene or who typify an important aspect of it. It also touches on broader themes and trends in the discourse. danieloppenheimer.substack.com

You Might Also Like