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Eminent Americans: Daily Summaries Delivered
by 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
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- 5 days ago1h 48m
On Off Christopher Street
My guests on the show today are David Sessions and Blake Smith, who are friends of the pod as well as co-hosts of the Off Christopher Street Podcast, which takes its name from the pioneering gay magazine Christopher Street, which aspired to be something like the gay New Yorker during it 20 year run from the mid 1970s to the mid 1990s. This episode is also being released via their show’s feed, and in that spirit (and because David does show notes so much better than I do), here’s that feed’s summary of the conversation:In this crossover episode with Eminent Americans, we take a step back from our regular programming to talk to our friend Dan Oppenheimer about the state of gay male intellectual life. Does it still exist? If so, where is it located? We talk about why the editors of Christopher Street thought it was important to use new media strategies to cultivate a distinctive gay male identity and a shared, if not homogenous, literary culture around it. Are today’s gay writers part of anything like a common identity or intellectual world? We talk about Gay Twitter, non-gay Substack, the “house gays” at straight magazines, the gay podcasts and the gay slop. We name all the names. Not because we think we have all the answers, but because we hope, in asking the questions, to provoke you to interest in the gay writing and thought we now have to inherit.Also discussed in this episode:* The political parallels between our political moment and the 1970s* How the editors of Christopher Street took inspiration from feminism but thought gay male culture should be separate from women* The “missing middle” between academic gay studies and the playful performativity of Gay Twitter* Why it’s important that gay men write for a gay audience, not just for whoever will read them in straight magazines* Why “not like other gays” writers like Dennis Cooper and Bruce Benderson are still part of gay culture* Why Bros is the best gay movie ever madeDavid and Blake on Eminent Americans* David: “The David Sessions Session” (July 2026)* Blake: “Homosexual, Gay, Queer (and a Soupçon of Porn)” (January 2026)* David: “Left Behind” (May 2025)* Blake: “The Fall of the White American Gay” (May 2023)Sources* Michael Denneny, “Why Gay Men Need a Literary Magazine,” Christopher Street Reader (1983).* “A Conversation with Michel Foucault,” Christopher Street, May 1982.* Ben Nichols, Same Old: Queer Theory, Literature, and the Politics of Sameness (2020).* Ben Miller and Huw Lemmey, Bad Gays: A Homosexual History (2023).* Michael Denneny, “A Mouthful of Air: The Case of Larry Kramer,” On Christopher Street: Life, Sex, and Death After Stonewall (2023).* Paul McAdory, “Gay Sincerity is Scary,” Gawker, September 9, 2021.* Tom Crewe, “<a target="_blank" href="https://www.lrb.co.u
- 1 weeks ago1h 33m
Athens, Jerusalem, Babel, Sodom
My guest on the show today is writer Ann Manov, the artist formerly known as personality girl and the author of a recent essay in Harper’s Magazine, “Republican Machines: Can the GOP save the humanities?”In it, Manov goes back to her alma mater, University of Florida, to report on the Hamilton School for Classical and Civic Education, perhaps the best known of the growing number of schools and centers around the country, typically at state universities in red states, dedicated to some mix of the great books and what has come to be called “civic thought.” On their website, the Hamilton school says that it teaches “the ideas and habits of thought that founded our country and sustain our free society.”The question Manov set out to answer, in her reporting, was basically whether these civic centers were, as they billed themselves, the saviors of liberal arts education in the US, or were they what their liberal and left-wing critics warned they were: indoctrination centers to incubate young right wing culture warriors and/or “Trojan horses designed to ravage humanities departments across the nation.”Or, and this is what Manov set out to determine, something else entirely? She writes: It struck me that, as an undergraduate at UF, I might have preferred to take Hamilton’s Great Books of the Medieval World over the English department’s Survey of American Literature, whose syllabus from this past spring included Avatar: The Last Airbender, Sailor Moon, and A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Bad Beginning. It also struck me as sufficiently unusual for a member of the GOP to go on national news, as Sasse had, to say that “the answer is not to hate on the liberal arts. The answer is to recover the liberal arts.” I decided I would go back to Gainesville and investigate for myself.As I get into some in the conversation, this is of more than just academic interest to me. I work at a college of liberal arts at a flagship state university in a red state that has not just a school of civic leadership but a separate institute in this philosophical space and a separate center in this space and a new great books-focused core curriculum that all students will be required to fulfill when it’s launched in a year or two. Also, of course, I just care about these issues, because I’m a humanities guy down to my DNA.So many of the people in my life are humanities folks as well. Some of them are in one camp or another, and many are just worried about the state of the humanities, the liberal arts, in America, which we all seem to agree are under threat even if we differ from whence the threat come, whether it’s the left, the right, neoliberalism, or big bad AI. So the stakes is high, as the great De La Soul once said.Eminent Americans is produced in collaboration with the John C. Danforth Center on Religion and Politics at Washington University in St. Louis, and distributed through its publication, Arc. Peace.Here are timestamped show notes for the episode:- 0:00 — Intro: guest Ann Manov and her Harper’s essay “Republican Machines: Can the GOP Save the Humanities?”- 0:32 — Overview of the Hamilton School at the University of Florida and the rise of “civic thought” centers- 5:58 — Manov joins the conversation- 7:42 — How Manov got the idea for the piece and her UF background- 10:58 — What exactly are these “civic centers”? Legislative origins (e.g., Florida’s SB-266)- 14:38 — Role of money and donors (Ken Griffin, Tikvah) and the relative weakness of great-books enrollment vs. PPEL- 16:58 — Political and financial motives behind funding: Zionism, anti-”woke” messaging, donor pressure- 22:38 — Why centers become “schools”: hiring power and bypassing traditional departments- 24:06 — Politicization of academic hiring lines and curriculum specialization- 30:32 — Faculty quality at these schools; political diversity questions- 32:40 — Laptops, ChatGPT, and declining classroom rigor- 38:33 — Comparing reading loads: poli sci vs. Hamilton School’s PPEL intro course- 42:40 — Jennifer Frey’s oust
- 2 weeks ago1h 47m
Girl, Disrupted
My guest on the show today is Emmett Rensin, the author of 2024’s The Complications: On Going Insane in America, a really good collection of essays about various aspects of mental illness, how we construct and treat it as a society, and Emmett’s own fairly terrifying history of dealing with it.I asked Emmett to come on to the show after reading his recent essay in The Lamp Magazine, “Over the Borderline,” which is a profile of the soft anti-psychiatry activist and writer Laura Delano, whose memoir of extricating herself from what she sees as the baleful clutches of the mental health and psychiatric establishment has been a bit of a phenomenon.It’s a really extraordinary piece, which you should all go read.It’s about Delano’s story. It’s about the interesting ways in which she’s gentrifying anti-psychiatry for a new audience. It’s about Emmett’s own wrestling with mental illness, diagnosis, and psychopharmaceuticals. And it’s about how to contend with the fact that our psychiatric regime is both terribly inadequate to the challenge of all the mentally ill or struggling people it has to deal with—uncertain in its science, shameful in its legacy, destined to fail and in some cases do real damage to a fair number of people—and also, in the end, probably the least bad option we have on the table, run by a lot of people with good intentions, a lot of compassion, and a genuine desire to do the best they can with the tools we have for people who are suffering.I didn’t really know much about Emmett before reading this essay, but it’s one of those pieces where you read it and immediately know you’re dealing with a rare intellect and a talent. It’s that good. He’s on my list now of writers I have to keep track of.In addition to the show, one brief aside.Back in 2015, I attended a conference for communications and marketing people that was held on Coronoado Island in San Diego. The keynote speaker was Ezra Klein, who at the time was riding pretty high as the young philosopher king of Vox, which he and Matt Yglesias had founded just the year before.My memory of his talk, which may also just have been a conversation with one of the conference organizers, is pretty vague. But I have a very distinct memory of one thing he said to us, which was that one of the most fascinating things they’d learned from analyzing the metrics for the Vox site was that content about race and gender was massively more effective at driving traffic than almost any other topic.I don’t know if he said it approvingly, like it was evidence that people really did care about these important issues, and that it put the lie to the old status quo assumption that social justice content was boring to readers. He may have said it neutrally, like isn’t this interesting. Or maybe he said it with some alarm, like it was a combustible substance that had to be handled with extreme care.But the fact of it has stayed with me ever since, and I genuinely think it may have helped me in keeping some balance during the period of craziness that was about to ensue. I had this awareness that that kind of culture war content just drove people nuts, shot a bolt of electricity straight to the sub-rational regions of their brains, and was therefore suspicious of the consensus narratives that formed during that time.I was reminded me of Klein’s observations, recently, when I wrote a short essay for the Substack about him, and in particular about his partial mea culpa, on an episode of his podcast where he answered questions from listeners, for what he got wrong during that period, that he missed some of what was going on.Read my essay if you’re interested. It’s good. But what I wanted to observe is that my post about Klein and wokeness drove way more clicks, and new subscribers, than anything I’ve done in a long time, and it wasn’t because it was better, on its own terms, than other stuff I’ve written.It’s because it’s exactly what Klein pointed out, all those years ago. You get attention for delving into culture war topics. And the power of it isn’t just to sizzle readers’ brains but writers too, both because we’re vulnerable to the same provocations and then on top of that we’re vulnerable to how massively incentivized we are to write about these things out of self-interest, because it gets us readers, clicks, attention, mon
- Aug 21, 20261h 29m
Two Paths (?) for the American Jew
My guest on the show today is David Sugarman, writer, Arc magazine editor, podcast producer of this very show, and agonizing, ambivalent American Jew. It's in this last capacity that he's joining me today to discuss his essay in the new issue of The Point magazine titled “Goodbye West Orange: Two Paths for the American Jew.” I want to note, before I say anything more about the essay or our conversation about it, that over the course of the three-plus years that I've been doing this Substack and podcast, there are two issue constellations that I have been especially gun-shy about confronting. One is the various issues surrounding trans people and policies in America, and the other, of course, is Israel-Palestine. As to why I've been so gun-shy, it should almost go without saying. There is no winning when you wade into these topics. They seem to devour people's capacity to contain nuance or complexity. They also seem to just devour people. You think you're just dipping in a toe, and then suddenly you're neck deep. Then you are underwater, completely defined by the issue, captured by the emotions around it, forever stigmatized or lionized as a hero or villain of the debate, and I have not wanted that fate for myself. I thought and continue to think that it is honorable to abstain from public comment when no one is waiting around breathlessly to hear your opinion, when you don't know that much, and when you don't feel like you have anything particularly interesting or useful to say. So that is why I've stayed away. As to why I'm breaking with that policy, both with this episode with David and with my upcoming episode with sociologist Rogers Brubaker, whose new book, Gender Identity: The Career of a Category, is very much in the space of the trans issue, I'm not wholly sure. It may be that I have a touch of a bad conscience for opting out to this point, notwithstanding my protestations of honorability around abstention. Or maybe, and this isn't mutually exclusive, I've just started to glimpse a narrow opening, where I didn’t before, for the having of complicated conversations about these immensely complicated topics. And maybe I have been waiting, without realizing I’m waiting, to run across texts that dignify my desire have a different kind of conversation, and then I found them. David's essay, "Goodbye West Orange: Two Paths for the American Jew," is about two Jews, Moshe and Tova. It's about them both as themselves in their human complexity and about them as avatars of rival sides of the increasingly stark divide in American Jewry between what we might call (and David and I get into our discomfort about just reducing it to this) the Zionists and the anti-Zionists. It's also about David's own lived experience, if you will, as a former member in good standing of both camps, and about his current disaffection with both. It's also about why language itself has become such a battlefield in this intra-American contest, and it's about what comes next for all of us. To give you a taste, here's David writing in the piece:Each side demanded, Moshe’s and Tova’s, that I disavow the other: the antisemitic left, the genocidal right; progressive secularism with all its dangerous bedfellows, Zionism in all forms. The logics were nearly identical: look at this community you belong to, this failed project you’ve supported; look at what it’s doing in the world and at the rot at its core: What would you need to see to finally understand its immorality?Moshe and his community monopolized the pull of peoplehood, and of historical trauma, and of a rising sense of insecurity that has only deepened, as Jews have been murdered in D.C., in Manchester, in Melbourne. Moshe, I’d assume, has both an explanation and solution: antisemitism; Zionism.Tova, too: empire; revolution. Such an explanation frames Israel’s collective punishment of the Palestinians in Gaza, or the state-sanctioned settler violence in the West Bank, or the war against Iran and Lebanon, as parts of a coherent colonial project that should be resisted by any means necessary—even the violent means deployed by Hezbollah and Hamas.…How can anti-authoritarians be so forgiving of some forms of authoritarianism? I wonder about this as I drive from Moshe’s house to Tova’s, a ground-level unit in a quiet complex surrounded by woods. It’s a matter of language, I conclude—that our words can’t really travel with us, even from one side of West Orange to another. To talk about Zionism or
- Aug 14, 20261h 19m
Ballad of the Wild Ken
I would rather that my spark should burn outin a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.I would rather be a superb meteor, every atomof me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.The function of man is to live, not to exist.I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.I shall use my time.— Jack LondonMy guest today is Ken Ilgunas, nature writer, adventurer, rewilding advocate, Substacker, podcaster, psychotherapy grad student, group fitness trainer, and shaggy lawn evangelist.Ken’s adult life, from graduating college until just a small number of years ago, was basically a series of solo adventures. He went out into the world, natural and not-so-natural, and walked it. And walked and walked, and boated, and hitchhiked, and drove and hopped trains and whatever other mode of transportation was available. He met wild people and wild animals.Along the way he wrote various books, including Walden on Wheels, about, among other things, living in a van down by the river while in grad school; Trespassing Across America, about an often quite illegal sojourn along the proposed Keystone XL pipeline route; This Land Is Our Land, about the lost but maybe someday to be regained American right to roam freely across lands both public and private; and A Walk Across Suburbia, which is about a three day walk across suburbia, in this case the specific suburb where he grew up.I met Ken a few years, when he was already ensconced in the more domesticated phase of his life– married, father of a very cute daughter, and homeowner in, and civic minded resident of, a small, tidy village just a few train stops out from Edinburgh, Scotland.Ken’s now working on a book proposal called The Future Wild, which is about both current efforts to re-wild the world in various ways, homespun and science fictional, and also what the natural world might look like if we give it a few hundred years to reassert itself, perhaps with some help along the way.In this episode we talk about the new project, his hitchhiking trip in his early 20s from Alaska to Buffalo, New York. We talk about American Prairie, the three-point-two million acre re-wilding project in north central Montana that almost nobody has heard of, which Ken hiked across last year with his nephew and which he describes as maybe the boldest conservation project in the world. We talk about de-extinction of species like wooly mammoths revival, direwolves, aurochs, all that Jurassic Park shit. We talk about whether depopulation is bad news or good news for the planet, whether environmentalism has been its own worst enemy, and whether a right to roam could ever come to America. And we spend some time on what it’s actually like to be a very hardcore introvert who has, over the course of his forties, had to negotiate between the part of himself that just wants to disappear into the wilderness for months at a time and the part that wants a family and a home and a steady job.What I most
- Aug 7, 20261h 39m
The Sacred Dark Arts of the Snowflake Hermeneutical Brigade
My guest on the show today is Len Gutkin, editor of The Chronicle Review, which is the ideas and analysis section of the Chronicle of Higher Education. Len, in his freelance life, is a critic whose essays have appeared in Liberties, The Los Angeles Review of Books, and elsewhere.He got his PhD in English from Yale in 2014, spent some time as a postdoc at Harvard, and has spent the years since largely at Chronicle, writing about the intellectual and institutional life of the American university with, from my perspective, an admirable sense of skin in the game; is somebody who cares about this stuff, and you can sense it in his writing.This episode with Len is something of a throwback for the show. A lot of my early episodes were pretty squarely focused on the culture wars — wokeness, anti-wokeness, what was going on in the academy, in journalism, in politics that kind of thing — and I have definitely drifted away from that territory, I think for good reason, in large part because I, like so many other people, kind of ran out of interesting new things to say about it.But I am coming back to it here because Len’s recent [paywalled - email Len for access] essay in Liberties, which he titles “Reading for Sins,” is the kind of piece that can probably only be written in retrospect, with a bit of distance from the hullabaloo. Len takes on what he calls at one point, maybe with a hint of apology, “snowflake hermeneutics”: the tendency, particularly acute in the literary humanities over the last decade or so, to read works of art primarily, or at least substantially, for the sins they contain; to fixate on the morally or politically objectionable aspects of books at the expense of everything else about them.He approaches that less to condemn it, though there’s no secret as you’re reading it that he’s not a fan of this approach to literature, than to give it what I think of as a genuine institutional and intellectual history — to understand it as something other than the thing that gives Chris Rufo too many owie feelings.To do that, Len ranges pretty widely. He gets into the sociology of taboo, the history of literary education, and, among other examples, a 2023 controversy over Merve Emre’s New Yorker review of John Guillory’s book Professing Criticism. Guillory’s book argued that literary scholars as a profession had made a rather grievous conceptual error at some point along the way: they came to think that their work as scholars was justified, at least in part, on the basis of its beneficial political impact on society. In some extreme cases, scholars saw themselves explicitly as activists, but in many cases it was somewhat more indirect. They had constructed a paradigm in which the critical, inquisitive, deconstructive work they did served clear political ends.Guillory was critical of that. Emre, reviewing his book for The New Yorker, lexplored his argument and then added some of her own, drawing on her own experience in academia. In doing so, and this is key to how Len gets into it in his essay, she repeatedly used a phrase that Guillory himself had used to characterize what had happened to his field: “professional deformation.” It is the English translation of what was a originally a French expression used to describe actual physical deformations, like the way coal miners might develop a distinctive slump or hunch.That phrase then provided the spark for an explosion of outrage from members of a public Facebook group called Remaking the University, administered by a former president of the Modern Language Association and populated by tenured and tenure-track faculty at high-prestige institutions. They did not like Emre’s use of “professional deformation.” Here is how Len, in his Liberties essay, characterizes what he observed in that Facebook group:I paid more than usual attention to the reception of Professing Criticism, because I had written about it several times myself. I was interested to see what the folks at a popular public Facebook page devoted to “Remaking the University,” hosted by a recent president ofthe Modern Language Association, would make of Emre’s review. They didn’t like it. And several of them — tenured professors of English, not naïve or overeager freshmen — were appalled by Guillory’s use of the phrase “deformation,” as well as by Emre’s approving use of it throughout
- Jul 31, 20261h 51m
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 sample
- Jul 23, 20261h 38m
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
About Eminent Americans
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
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