Keen On America

What’s the truth about our AI future? Our guests have different takes. On the one hand, Dave McClure and Aman Verjee predict a $7 trillion future for just three AI startups in 2027. On the other, Salima Bhimani doesn’t believe that Silicon Valley has the imagination to create the moonshot to address our jobless future.
 
For That Was The Week publisher Keith Teare, it’s a time for what he calls “champions.” What he wants is the development of a “human dividend” from intelligence. Supposedly this will be provided by the multi-trillion dollar AI companies like OpenAI and Anthropic that will pioneer the social ownership of intelligence. But a Norwegian-style Human Wealth Fund is about as likely, I suspect, as a new Freddie Mercury recording of “We Are the Champions.”
 
Dream on. Salima Bhimani is right. The moonshot to fix our jobless AI future won’t come out of workaholic Silicon Valley. Look elsewhere for those types of champions, my friends. Brazil perhaps. The movie, not the country.
 
Five Takeaways
 
•       The Zeitgeist Exaggerates. The week’s split screen: a $7 trillion future for OpenAI, Anthropic, and SpaceX on one side; Ed Luce’s “AI phobia” consensus and Jill Lepore’s AI-versus-the-people politics on the other. Keith’s contrarian read: the negativity is loud but thin. Most intelligent people already use AI daily — from high school onward — and simply don’t talk about it; weigh the happy users against the vocal critics and the users “massively dominate.” He suspects a tipping point has been reached, with the anti-AI minority “starting to sound a little cultish.” The political stakes are his real worry: if the Democrats mistake the noise for populism and run against AI, they will lose 2028 “quite heavily” — and Lepore, he charges, is writing opinion, not history.
•       Who Are the Champions? The editorial’s diagnosis: the problem isn’t negativity but “the lack of vocal connection between AI and people’s futures.” The champions exist — but they hedge everything into pointlessness, “trained as politicians as opposed to business leaders,” each with a little voice saying don’t upset anybody. “Can you imagine any other major breakthrough in human history where people would be shy to champion it?” His roster pointedly omitted both Dario Amodei and Elon Musk (“fairly balanced with who I left out”); the goal is to assemble the articulate case so “the minority who are politicizing negativity can be exposed as a minority.” Andrew’s genealogy for the project: Nixon’s silent majority, reborn with a token budget.
•       90% Sacks — and Squashed Armadillos. The hour’s fault line ran through David Sacks’s tweet: Dario believes frontier AI is “too powerful to distribute”; Sacks believes it is “too powerful to centralize,” fearing a marriage of corporate and state power. Andrew took Dario’s side; Keith claimed the middle until Andrew invoked the Texas rule — the only thing in the middle of the road is squashed armadillos — and extracted a confession: “I agree with Sacks, I’d say, 90%.” The 10% is Keith’s own position: happy with centralized giants (free intelligence needs their investment) and happy with the growing edge — the world’s intelligence in a solar-powered box, no grid required. Dario is championing “handcuffs on AI”; Lepore’s car-regulation analogy fails because corporations are already regulated and AI itself is safe; and Helen Toner’s Hugging Face alarm, aired on Ezra Klein’s podcast, was “contrived in a lab” — a dismissal that sparked the hour’s frenemy flashpoint: “Are you telling me I’m ignorant of something?”
•       Metering the Dividend. Keith solved Andrew’s billing mystery on air: the $100-a-month Claude plan that throttled him last week has a quota page he never found — and the price is “actually a very generous amount. They’re losing money on you.” The honest price would be $200 to $400. Hence the editorial’s champion, Stripe: its acquisition of OpenRouter — which routes every prompt across all the models to the cheapest good answer — puts the payments company in the middle of the token traffic stream. Azeem Azhar’s $6 AI agent points the direction: prices tending toward zero at the edge, free for the kid, the school, and the hospital, paid for by the company running three thousand agents — even if delivering intelligence to six billion people ultimately costs tens of trillions. The parable: a Chinese dumpling shop built an agent API so customers’ AIs could place orders, and sales went through the roof — the corner store getting a website, circa 1994. “You could do it with Keen On,” Keith noted. Meanwhile founders live like Captain Kirk on the bridge — productivity through the roof, but the agents must be flown daily.
•       The Human Dividend. The coda: Keith’s book is done, and its name is settled — The Human Dividend, asking who owns intelligence. Written in two days, cut from eighty thousand words to sixty in three more — seventeen chapters rewritten paragraph by paragraph in an AI agent’s two-panel editor, purging repetition and AI-isms until “it was a Keith Teare-written book.” The thesis in one line: intelligence is the central product of this era; its surplus is co-produced; the property should be too. The mechanism: a Human Wealth Fund on the Alaska-Norway model — one share per person, given not bought, expiring at death with no inheritance — funded by AI companies donating equity on day one and governed by its own constitution, no state involved (unlike Trump’s $1,000 baby accounts: what the state gives, the state can take away). The pitch to the companies: owners, not just users, are how you win affinity. Sell it or give it away? To be continued in two weeks — Andrew is off to Italy, and Manchester United, who lost to Hull, are off the champions list entirely.
 
About the Co-Host
 
Keith Teare is the co-host of the weekly That Was The Week segment on Keen On America and editor of the That Was The Week tech newsletter. Founder and CEO of SignalRank Corporation, he was previously a founder of TechCrunch (with Michael Arrington), Archimedes Labs, EasyNet, and cyber café Cyberia. A serial entrepreneur across four decades of Silicon Valley and London tech, he writes weekly on the state of innovation — and is completing his first book, The Human Dividend.
 
References:
 
•       That Was The Week — Keith Teare’s newsletter; this week’s editorial: “Who Are the Champions?”
•       Ed Luce’s Financial Times column on “AI phobia” as America’s new consensus — its third invocation on this show in a week.
•       Jill Lepore’s FT weekend essay and new book on “AI versus the people” — the politics of 2026 and 2028, per America’s best historian.
•       David Sacks’s tweet on Dario Amodei — “too powerful to distribute” versus “too powerful to centralize” — the hour’s fault line.
•       Helen Toner’s conversation with Ezra Klein on the Hugging Face incide...

“Just because I think something is dumb doesn’t mean I think it should be illegal.” — Nicholas Anthony on meme coins
 
Earlier this month, Elizabeth Warren called for an SEC investigation of Donald Trump’s meme coin. Is the Pope Catholic? No surprise there. More revealing are other critics of the “presidential” token which netted our Grifter-in-Chief $636 million last year. Take, for example, Nicholas Anthony, an expert on crypto at the Cato Institute and author of Digital Currency or Digital Control? It’s news when an unashamed libertarian from Washington’s own temple of free markets calls the president’s crypto adventure “completely unnecessary.” Maybe the Pope isn’t Catholic. Or maybe Elizabeth Warren should join the Cato Institute.
 
Anthony’s verdict is withering because, under his libertarian shell, he’s a crypto bro. The meme coin “has been a problem for everyone but Trump,” he argues, because it has held up legislation, invited investigations, and weaponized ethics concerns about crypto.
 
“We have no one to blame except Trump…” Anthony concludes bleakly. “He knew better than to do it, but he saw the opportunity and ran with it.”
 
When I accused Anthony of sounding like Elizabeth Warren, he was more amused than offended. Unlike the Warren crowd, however, he doesn’t want to ban crypto. “Just because I think something is dumb,” he says, “doesn’t mean I think it should be illegal.” So while Trump-style meme coins are a natural habitat for what he calls “rug pulls,” that shouldn’t be an excuse for lawmakers to pull the rug from the entire industry. Crypto can still revolutionize finance, Anthony believes. It can democratize centralized banking. It can make money fairer. Just don’t confuse that with a Melania meme coin.
 
Five Takeaways
 
•       A Hard No from Cato. The week’s most surprising critic of Trump’s meme coin isn’t a Democrat — it’s a Cato libertarian. Anthony’s verdict: “completely unnecessary,” legally gray but ethically indefensible, and “a problem for everyone but Trump” — stalling the crypto legislation the industry actually wants, inviting investigations, and handing opponents a weapon. The explanation is pure self-interest: the first-term Trump attacked crypto as competition to the dollar and pushed policies hostile to the space; the second-term convert was swayed by industry lobbying and campaign money, the opportunity for personal enrichment, and crypto’s libertarian-conservative DNA. “We have no one to blame except for Trump… He knew better than to do it, but he saw the opportunity and ran with it.”
•       Dumb, But Not Illegal. The libertarian line in one sentence: “Just because I think something is dumb doesn’t mean I think it should be illegal.” Meme coins are “a trading card of sorts” — their value is the person behind them, held up only as long as people stay amused — and a natural habitat for rug pulls, where insiders manufacture interest and vanish with the proceeds. Anthony opposes bans; he demands disclosure, and insists fraud be prosecuted whether it’s snake oil from a cart or a token from a president. Hence the kicker: a Warren-style investigation of the sitting president is “perfectly reasonable,” and “if it turns out he was doing something behind the scenes, then I think he should be prosecuted for it.” From what he’s seen, the fans knew what they were buying — but the line between brilliantly marketed and fraudulently sold is exactly what investigations exist to draw.
•       The Dollar Launders Better. Isn’t crypto the ideal vehicle for laundering money? “Not so much. The US dollar is definitely the ideal vehicle” — and remains the currency of choice for criminals worldwide. The numbers: roughly one percent of cryptocurrency activity has been identified as illegal, against about five percent of US dollar usage — because the dollar is accepted everywhere, even in criminal circles, and cash, once it leaves your hand, is gone. Most cryptocurrencies, by contrast, run on public blockchains: permanent, searchable records that forensic accounting firms mine daily, and that keep catching criminals who never understood that the ledger remembers everything. The moral panic, Anthony suggests, is aimed at the wrong instrument.
•       Free Banking’s Revenge. The deeper Cato case: cryptocurrency — born of cypherpunk and libertarian ideas after the 2008 crisis — is “for the first time in over a hundred years, the challenge to the idea that central banks have complete and total ownership of what is money.” Its ancestors are Scottish free banking and the note-issuing American banks that cleared payments for decades before the Federal Reserve existed. The prosecution’s exhibits against central banking: Zimbabwe’s hyperinflation queues, where friends of Anthony’s watched food become unaffordable while they waited in line, and the slower American version — $10,000 bought two Corvettes in 1970 and needs to be $80,000 today. No utopias: Bitcoin won’t erase the debt. But competition would supply the missing incentive for governments to be “better stewards of currency” — and the practice already exists, from Argentina and Lebanon to the crypto hubs of Nigeria, South Africa, and Kenya.
•       Swept Up by Trump. The sadder confession concerns his own side: “Sadly, many conservatives have been swept up by Trump… the president can do no wrong” — Ted Cruz and Mike Lee among the obsequious, blocking the ethics language Democrats want attached to crypto legislation. The principled exception is Wyoming’s Cynthia Lummis: pro-Trump, yes, but one of the rare members of Congress who has done the technical and philosophical homework. The industry itself — Coinbase included — walks a careful line around the man who will sign its rules into law, seeing the damage but saying little. Anthony acknowledges his privilege: “Here at the Cato Institute, I can call balls and strikes.” As for the wider economy: a storm in a teacup for now — while crypto’s speculative fever has migrated to AI, whose models are quietly integrating the coins as their payment rails. It’s not what Satoshi envisioned; the cypherpunks and the bankers will split the inheritance.
 
About the Guest
 
Nicholas Anthony is a research fellow at the Cato Institute’s Center for Monetary and Financial Alternatives, a fellow at the Human Rights Foundation, and a member of the Economic Inclusion Group’s Advisory Board. His research covers central bank digital currencies, financial privacy, cryptocurrency, and the use of money in society. The author of Digital Currency or Digital Control? Decoding CBDC and the Future of Money, he has testified before Congress, maintains the Human Rights Foundation’s CBDC Tracker, and has been published in the Wall Street Journal, MarketWatch, and Business Insider. Originally from Baltimore, he holds an MA in economics from George Mason University.
 
References:
 
•       Digital Currency or Digital Control? Decoding CBDC and the Future of Money by Nicholas Anthony (Cato Institute).
•       Senator Elizabeth Warr...

“If we continue to build for people and not with people, we won’t have a say in what this technology will look like or do in ten or twenty years.” — Salima Bhimani
 
Finally some inventive news in our summer of Luddite discontent. Salima Bhimani spent six and a half years at Google X’s moonshot factory as its first Chief Strategist for Responsible Tech. So thank her for the (responsible) magic of Alphabet’s Waymo, Wing, and DeepMind. In her new book, Invent Now, Bhimani provides a map for the next wave of moonshots. No, she speculates, they probably won’t come out of Silicon Valley. But, yes, they will come from somewhere.
 
Her invention was formed long before Silicon Valley. She remembers staring at the Toronto subway from her father’s magazine stall and wondering not where the trains went but “what is our relationship to this tube?” An ethnographer by training, Bhimani arrived at Google X from a world of government and nonprofits where “constraint was bread and butter.” At Alphabet, of course, she was spoilt with endless money and runway. Although that didn’t always guarantee moonshot success.
 
Moonshots fail, she explains, because they are always more than technologies. They are ecosystems, and they need the approval of regulators, communities, and consumers. Take, for example, the abortive Sidewalk Labs, Alphabet’s smart-city bet in her hometown of Toronto, which failed to recognize the practical realities of utopian city-planning.
 
So what will be the most dramatic moonshot of the twenty-first century? No, she says, it probably won’t be consumer rocketships to Mars or a cure for cancer. Instead, it will be about a post-labor society. What is human purpose when it’s not work? No wonder such an outrageous idea probably won’t come out of work-obsessed Silicon Valley.
 
Five Takeaways
 
•       A Nuanced Optimist. Bhimani isn’t surprised by the Luddite lurch: people feel “compressed by things they can’t control,” surrounded by technology doing things they don’t understand — and it’s hot out. But against thirty years of Silicon Valley boosterism she offers neither cheerleading nor despair: hold the tension. Technology surveils, and drones make war; technology also lets more people solve problems that were previously unsolvable. She refuses the binary of the moment — the abundance gospel of the Andreessens versus the scarcity warnings of James Crawford — predicting instead “abundance in some areas and scarcity in others”: your spreadsheet skills may become worthless precisely as your capacity to build becomes unprecedented. The task is holding both truths with what she calls a discerning eye, treating technology as a co-partner in a relationship where the friction stays alive.
•       From the Toronto Subway to the Moonshot Factory. Her father ran a magazine stall in the Toronto subway, and young Salima stared at the trains asking an ethnographer’s question: not where are the people going, but “what is our relationship to this tube?” She came to Alphabet from government and nonprofits, where “constraint was bread and butter” — and met the opposite: endless money, endless runway, and audacity as the house style. As Alphabet’s first Chief Strategist for Responsible Tech, she sat with the CEOs of the Other Bets asking about trade-offs: “Are you willing to take on the potential that your drone could be used in nefarious ways — and how are you gonna ensure that doesn’t happen?” Now on her own — no Google badge to fly doors open — she finds leaving “opens up the aperture”: fifty-one years of experience, and both worlds, constraint and abundance, informing everything she builds.
•       She Folded Her Own Moonshot. The episode’s quiet bombshell: after leaving Alphabet, Bhimani co-founded a drone-detection company — and discovered what it feels like when the awkward questions are aimed at you. The full-stack solution she was building could genuinely help cities and communities; it could also be used for “all kinds of nefarious things.” Intention, she warns, is “pie in the sky when people actually are impacted”: the moment to map the worst case is now, not five years after your technology is loose in the world — because you will have to live with the choices you make. Some people can live with the range of implications; she and her co-founders decided they couldn’t: “We folded our drone company because the implications are not something that any of us could have lived with.” Responsible tech, practiced on herself.
•       Moonshots Are Ecosystems (Ask Sidewalk). The factory’s deepest lesson: a moonshot is never just a technology. Wing isn’t drones — it’s regulators, safety, and whether communities want packages falling on their porches; the ecosystem must come first, not at the last mile. Sidewalk Labs — Alphabet’s smart-city bet in her own Toronto — consulted widely, meant well, and died anyway on public distrust of big tech’s data appetite: an early tremor, Andrew suggests, of today’s earthquake against data centers, and evidence of a “massive gap” between society and technology that still hasn’t closed. Google fumbling Geoffrey Hinton’s generative breakthrough shows the other constraint: inside a company the size of a country, innovation must also become the next billion-dollar business. The counterexample is Waymo — sixteen years of perseverance toward John Krafcik’s bigger mandate (self-driving technology, cars merely one expression) — and perhaps Demis Hassabis, whom the latest reshuffle might just free “to be Demis.”
•       Step In, Not Stepped Out. AI wasn’t born yesterday — it spent thirty or forty years in labs, integrated into our lives in the background — and that incubation is precisely her warning: “If we continue to build for people and not with people, we won’t have a say in what this technology will look like or do in ten or twenty years.” The large language models belong to “the Googles and the Anthropics,” and most of us aren’t inside those companies. Her flip: if such powerful things were built in incubated spaces, imagine what could be built in unincubated ones — collective intelligence as our superpower, moonshots born from the convergence of places, people, and contexts rather than from Silicon Valley’s playbook. The century’s biggest moonshot, she suspects, is labor itself: what is human purpose when it’s not work? Her closing instruction, and the episode’s stamp: “We gotta step in and not be stepped out.”
 
About the Guest
 
Salima Bhimani, PhD, was Alphabet’s first Chief Strategist for Responsible Tech, Business, and Leaders, working for six and a half years with moonshot companies including Waymo, Wing, DeepMind, and Google X. An ethnographer by training who came to Silicon Valley from government and nonprofits, she is now CEO of 10X Responsible Tech and a senior fellow at AI 2030. Invent Now: The Next Leap in Moonshots (John Wiley & Sons, 2026), her first book, introduces the Third Space — a new lens for building moonshots from the convergence of technolog...

“When will be the end of thus exhausting the earth, and how far will avarice finally penetrate?” the Roman natural historian Pliny the Elder asked in 77 AD. Two thousand years later, the answer seems clear. At least according to the contemporary Scottish natural historian James Crawford. In his new book, The Vanishing Earth, the Edinburgh-based Crawford provides dispatches from what he calls the “frontiers of extraction.” From the Atacama Desert in northern Chile to the melting coastline of Greenland, Crawford describes the apocalyptic consequences of our avarice toward the earth.
 
The ultimate frontier of extraction, Crawford warns, is ourselves. Thus he reports on big tech’s designs to harvest our thoughts. Consumer headsets are already reading our brainwaves, Apple holds patents for brain-reading earbuds, and another self-styled “leader in real-world neuroscience” once promised “neuro insights for marketing purposes.”
 
The Vanishing Earth’s apocalyptic warnings appear both timeless and immediate. Watching Roman miners destroy Spanish mountains, Pliny the Elder wondered when we would finally exhaust the earth. Today, we can quantify the answer. Sometime around 2020, the weight of everything humanity has built came to exceed the weight of all life on Earth. It was just three percent in 1900. We have extracted more in the past fifty years than in all prior human history combined. We now build a city the size of Paris every five days. The ideology of endless growth is only 300 years old, Crawford warns. Pliny the Elder’s earth is history.
 
Crawford confesses that he is a product of extraction himself. On his family’s windowsill sits a lemonade bottle of the first North Sea crude, siphoned by his father the day it came ashore. “I am Scottish, after all,” he notes wryly.
 
Will our avarice transform extraction into extinction? Not necessarily, Crawford explains. His last dispatch is from Butte, Montana, and offers a ray of hope. There he finds people trying to repair the seemingly apocalyptic consequences of copper mining on the earth. So apocalypse now doesn’t mean apocalypse tomorrow. We still have the power to unvanish the earth, the agency to undo the avarice of our ancestors.
 
Five Takeaways
 
•       Pliny’s Two Questions. Watching Roman gold miners collapse entire Spanish mountains — ruina montium, “the fall of mountains” — the great naturalist Pliny the Elder asked, two thousand years ago: “When will be the end of thus exhausting the earth, and how far will avarice finally penetrate?” Those two questions run like an entwined seam through Crawford’s book, and he believes we’re now getting the answers. The ideology of endless economic growth, he argues, is only about 300 years old — born in Enlightenment Scotland as freedom from famine and the caprices of nature, and entirely sensible at the time. The problem is that the planet has changed and the ideology hasn’t. The “vanishing” of the title isn’t only resources: it’s the sixth extinction, the biodiversity collapse — and, potentially, us.
•       A Lemonade Bottle of First Oil. Crawford is a product of extraction, and knows it. His great-grandfather fled Shetland fishing at sixteen, wrote “engineer” on his immigration form, and ended up on Ford’s very first assembly line building the Model T. His father apprenticed in a coal mine, worked the Zambian Copperbelt, then spent thirty years in oil — which is why Crawford was born on the Shetland Islands, beside one of the world’s largest construction sites. The day the first North Sea oil came ashore, his father — who ran the pipelines and knew where to go — filled a lemonade bottle from an outlet valve; it still sits on the family windowsill. “I am a product of extraction. But then we all are”: microplastics in our bodies, forever chemicals passing from mother to unborn child. As a species, we have merged with what we mine.
•       Thought Extraction. The journey’s final landscape is the mind. Consumer neurotech — EEG headsets promising calm and focus — is already reading brainwaves, and the direction of travel is unmistakable: Emotiv scrubbed “neuro insights for marketing purposes” from its website between fact-check and publication (Crawford found the old language on the Wayback Machine); Apple holds patents for EEG-reading earbuds, with Meta and Snap filing alongside. Rafael Yuste’s Neurorights Foundation surveyed the roughly thirty companies selling neurotech to consumers and found that every one of them claimed unlimited access to customers’ brain data — with no legal protection in place. The attention economy harvested our behavior; the next extraction, Crawford warns, is the thought itself.
•       Heavier Than Life Itself. The statistics that stopped Crawford in his tracks: around 2020, the weight of everything humans have built — buildings, roads, plastics — came to exceed the weight of the Earth’s entire biomass, up from three percent in 1900. We’ve extracted more in fifty years than in all prior history; we build a Paris every five days; in ten years China poured more cement than America managed in the whole twentieth century. Hence the global sand shortage (desert sand is useless — “like building with marbles”) that sent him to Greenland, where melting glaciers make the coastline grow while the world’s shrink. And hence the hard questions about the energy transition: in 2025 humanity burned more wood, more coal, and more oil than ever before — not a transition but an accumulation, exactly as the Jevons paradox predicted when Victorian Britain worried about coal. Efficiency doesn’t reduce use; it multiplies it.
•       The Forever Repair. The book ends not in despair but in Butte, Montana — once the center of world copper production, its open-cast pit now a lake of sulfuric acid in the heart of the city. After thirty years of argument, a settlement around 2020 gave the city something unprecedented: BP holds a blank check to monitor Butte’s soils and water in perpetuity, and the people, rather than abandon their home, stayed to watch over it and tell its story. “It’s not you fix and you forget. Everything is a repair.” That, for Crawford, is the ideological shift the whole journey points toward — from extraction to repair. He is hopeful for one precise reason: we got here through a way of seeing the world, and minds can change. In the tradition of Silent Spring — which banned DDT and birthed the EPA — a book can still move the world. “I am Scottish, after all” — but the glass, on inspection, is half full.
 
About the Guest
 
James Crawford is a Scottish writer, broadcaster, and historian based in Edinburgh. The author of Fallen Glory: The Lives and Deaths of History’s Greatest Buildings and The Edge of the Plain: How Borders Make and Break Our World, he presents book programmes for the BBC and spent over a decade with Historic Environment Scotland. The Vanishing Earth: Dispatches from the Frontiers of Extraction (Bloomsbury, 2026) is out now in the US, with the UK edition imminent from Scribe. The New York Review of Books places him with Iain Sinclair, Rebecca Solnit, and Robert Macfarlane: “Riveting.”
 
References:
 
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“Our language is valuable, and we’ve gotta hold on to that. That’s the most human thing we have.” — Jeff Jarvis
 
Last week, to celebrate episode 3,000 of the show, the New York Times’ Sam Roberts articulated the art of the obituary. Borrowing from Citizen Kane, he described it as the Rosebud method. Obits are all about life (death only figuring as an afterthought), Roberts explained, so hunt for the moment which defines that life.
 
Today’s show is a kind of obituary of that type. Only it’s about the life of a machine and the mass media that emerged in its wake. In Hot Type, tech historian Jeff Jarvis introduces us to the magnificent late 19th century machine that not only gave birth to industrial mass media, but also bankrupted Mark Twain. It’s the history of the Linotype, the machine invented by Ottmar Mergenthaler that ended four hundred and fifty years of setting type, as Jarvis puts it, “one damn letter at a time.”
 
It’s an extraordinary story. Before the Linotype, American daily newspapers were limited to a 4,000 circulation. First installed at the New York Tribune on July 3, 1886, the Linotype scaled print, thereby enabling the age of mass circulation newspapers, magazines and books. It appeared so infinitely scalable that Mark Twain poured his entire family fortune into its doomed rival, the Paige Compositor. He lost all his money, of course, making it his Rosebud moment — Citizen Twain, so to speak. But for the rest of us, Mergenthaler’s magnificent type machine was so hot that it revolutionized 20th century culture in the same way that AI is now revolutionizing 21st century reading and writing. The art of obituary. A description of life, not death.
 
Five Takeaways
 
•       One Damn Letter at a Time. For four hundred and fifty years after Gutenberg, virtually every word in every language was set by hand, one letter at a time — which is why the average American daily circulated just 4,000 copies, “a small Substack newsletter.” Steam-powered presses, cheap wood-pulp paper, stereotyping, and the telegraph had solved every other bottleneck; the typesetter with a composing stick was the last. More than 300 typesetting machines failed before Ottmar Mergenthaler — a Baltimore watchmaker who knew nothing about printing, prodded by James O. Clephane, once a stenographer in Lincoln’s cabinet — had the eureka: stop imitating hand-setting and mold entire lines of type at once. Installed at the New York Tribune on July 3, 1886, the Linotype made type fresh for every edition, let print catch up with the telegraph, and gave birth to mass media.
•       The Union That Didn’t Smash the Machine. The book’s great labor surprise: the typesetters didn’t fight the typesetting machine. Having studied the Luddites’ defeat, the International Typographical Union sent spies into the Tribune’s composing room, concluded the Linotype was inevitable, and demanded to operate it — with Mergenthaler’s blessing. Thirty thousand jobs disappeared, returned to full strength within five years, and grew for seventy-five more, making the ITU America’s most powerful union. Then came wave two — paper tape, computers that could hyphenate and justify, cold type, PostScript — and this time the union fought: six of nine New York papers died in the strikes, Bert Powers traded automation for lifetime job guarantees (the last holder retired from the New York Times around 2012), and Murdoch’s secret Wapping plant ended Fleet Street — a century, almost exactly, after machine number one. The two lessons: take charge of the technology if you can; if it will replace you outright, find something else to do.
•       The Machine That Drove Twain Mad. Mark Twain wanted to be filthy rich and stop writing — so he poured his fortune, and his wife’s family coal fortune, into the Paige Compositor, the Linotype’s brilliant, doomed rival: only two ever built, the sole survivor sitting in the basement of Hartford’s Mark Twain House looking like “a railroad with nowhere to go.” Bankruptcy followed — a far deeper shame in the nineteenth century — and Twain repaid every debtor. Jarvis reads the scars in the fiction: A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court ends with technology destroying technology in an Armageddon of Camelot; the unfinished No. 44, The Mysterious Stranger conjures strange beasts endlessly duplicating pages — scale itself as nightmare. He lost all his money, of course — his Rosebud moment, as Andrew puts it, borrowing from Sam Roberts’ art of the obituary on episode 3,000. The machine robbed Twain not of his humor, Jarvis concludes, but of his love of technology. The biopic pitch: Citizen Twain.
•       From One Gilded Age to Another. The Linotype era bridges Twain’s Gilded Age — tycoons of steam, steel, and wire — to ours, with its barons of bits and AI. Whitelaw Reid, the book’s villain and the first capitalist media mogul, used the machine against his own union and predicted newspapers would never exceed eight pages (completely wrong); Frank Munsey invented the attention economy at a dime a copy — content as honey, audience as product, a model that ruled mass media and infected the Internet. Today’s moguls fare no better in Jarvis’s telling: Altman selling “vending machines for intelligence” that actually dispense compute, Amodei “the paragon of safety” with a skewed definition of it, all chasing the Valhalla of AGI, “pure BS.” His hope: open-weight models to check the frontier companies. His warning against banning them: guardrails are a fool’s errand — the printing press was a general machine, and nobody could tell Gutenberg to keep it from Martin Luther.
•       Words Matter, Damn It. The through-line from Jarvis’s blog post to the book: language is the most human thing we have. His objection to Anthropic’s watermark isn’t Keith Teare’s shame argument — it’s that a scheme treating “overcast” and “gray” as interchangeable declares all language fungible, “a cultural statement damaging to our craft.” His own AI practice is disclosed down to a confessional footnote in Hot Type for a single borrowed phrase: Gemini may pull facts (“don’t write for me”), but what you express must be what you want to express. The typewriter shaped Nietzsche and made Hemingway; the newsroom computer made Jarvis an editor more than a writer; Quark made everyone typesetters — “in the end, it was all still me.” Against Kirschenbaum’s gray goo, he holds up Pope Leo (work brings dignity; not a Luddite) and poetry itself. Hot type revolutionized 20th century culture the way AI is now revolutionizing 21st century reading and writing. The art of obituary: a description of life, not death — and the most human thing we have is the words.
 
About the Guest
 
Jeff Jarvis is the Emeritus Leonard Tow Professor of Journalism Innovation at CUNY’s Craig Newmark Graduate School of Journalism. The creator and founding managing editor of Entertainment Weekly, he has been TV critic for TV Guide and People, Sunday editor of the New York Daily News, and a media columnist for The Guardian. His books include What Would Google Do?, The Gutenberg Parenthesis, Magazine, and The Web We Weave; he blogs at Buzzmachine...