“That’s how I would picture fascists: this never-satisfied, dissonant climb to nothing… to ruin.” — David Baerwald

 

Earlier this month, the historian James M. Scott came on the show to talk about those three deadly days [https://keenon.substack.com/p/three-deadly-days-in-august] in August 1945 when the Americans dropped two nuclear bombs on Japan. Today we return to that war in the skies above Japan. Only with a fictional twist.

 

Behind this fiction, however, is the kind of family saga that few novelists have either the nerve or imagination to invent. It concerns three generations of the Baerwalds. In the Thirties, a German Jewish organic chemist called Ernst Baerwald worked for (of all people) I.G. Farben, the company that manufactured the gas used at Auschwitz. A sophisticated Japanophile, Baerwald was Farben’s man in Tokyo, where he hobnobbed with a member of the royal family. American intelligence turned Ernst Baerwald into a spy, using his intimate knowledge of Japan in their firebombing of Tokyo. In exchange, Baerwald fled to the United States with his wife and son Hans, who became a leading authority on 20th century Japanese politics. Hans’ son, David Baerwald [https://mcnallyjackson.com/book/9781966302001], meanwhile, became a platinum-selling musician who has worked with Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Rickie Lee Jones, Sheryl Crow, and Bruce Springsteen.

 

Growing up in California, David knew little about Ernst. But seven years ago, while clearing out the family home after the Los Angeles fires, he discovered his grandfather’s diaries, photographs, and letters. He found a 1943 speech to the American Intelligence School proving that Ernst, a German Jew who loved Japan, knew the details of the Tokyo firebombing in which 140,000 people died, two years before it happened.

 

“I have no qualifications as a historian,” David Baerwald confesses. So what followed was The Fire Agent [https://mcnallyjackson.com/book/9781966302001], a 624-page novel loosely imagined around his grandfather’s enigmatic life. But what David brought to this epic was a lyricist’s skill in the kind of musical composition that enabled him to keep characters in play like sections of an orchestra. No wonder then that The Fire Agent is one of the most acclaimed literary debuts of the year. And no wonder that, in our age of looming fascism, The Fire Agent reads as more than just history.

 

Five Takeaways

 

•       Papers Found in a Fire. The novel began, appropriately, in flames: during a Los Angeles fire at an old family home, Baerwald discovered his grandfather’s papers — among them a 1943 speech delivered at the American Intelligence School in San Francisco, proving that Ernst Baerwald was deeply involved in, or at least privy to, the planning of the Tokyo firebombing two years before the bombs fell in March 1945. The shock was moral as much as archival: everything David knew of his grandfather was how much he loved Japan and hated what happened to it. The contradiction became an obsession, the obsession became an investigation — of one family, and of the joining of industry and fascism in three countries — and the investigation became a novel, because “I have no qualifications as a historian” and a novel allows some jokes to carry the tragedy’s weight.

•       The Man Who Knew Where the Gas Was. Ernst Baerwald, the family’s “dye seller,” was nothing so modest: dyestuffs being slang for organic chemistry, he was Asia director of the chemical cartel that supplied IG Farben — the conglomerate that built a work camp at Auschwitz — a violinist mentor to Prince Takamatsu, and a German Jew too valuable to fire until far too late. He helped build Tokyo’s natural gas distribution system after the Kanto earthquake, which meant he knew every depot, fuel stor

From Japan With(out) Love: David Baerwald on His Grandfather Spy Who Helped Flatten Tokyo

What’s the truth about our AI future? Our guests have different takes. On the one hand, Dave McClure and Aman Verjee predict [https://keenon.substack.com/p/our-seven-trillion-dollar-future?r=ktr9] a $7 trillion future for just three AI startups in 2027. On the other, Salima Bhimani [https://keenon.substack.com/p/the-next-moonshot-wont-come-from?r=ktr9] doesn’t believe that Silicon Valley has the imagination to create the moonshot to address our jobless future.

 

For That Was The Week [https://thatwastheweek.com/] publisher Keith Teare [https://thatwastheweek.com/], 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?”

•     

We Are (Not) the Champions: Why Silicon Valley Isn’t Providing an AI Human Dividend

“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 [https://www.cato.org/people/nicholas-anthony], an expert on crypto at the Cato Institute and author of Digital Currency or Digital Control? [https://www.cato.org/people/nicholas-anthony] 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: rou

The The Profitable Art of Dumb Meme Coins: Nicholas Anthony on Trump's $636M Gain & His Fans' $3.8B Loss

“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 [https://bookshop.org/p/books/invent-now-the-next-leap-in-moonshots-salima-bhimani/9c6a20ee2f6efd91] 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 [https://bookshop.org/p/books/invent-now-the-next-leap-in-moonshots-salima-bhimani/9c6a20ee2f6efd91], 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, informi

The Next Moonshot Won’t Come from Silicon Valley: ex-Google X’er Salima Bhimani on How to Invent Now

“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 [https://www.jamescrawford.space/new-page-3]. In his new book, The Vanishing Earth [https://www.jamescrawford.space/new-page-3], 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 produ

Apocalypse Past, Present and Future: James Crawford’s Dispatches from the Frontiers of Extraction

“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 [https://keenon.substack.com/p/are-they-dead-yet?r=ktr9] 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 [https://www.waterstones.com/book/hot-type/jeff-jarvis/9798765123959], tech historian Jeff Jarvis [https://www.waterstones.com/book/hot-type/jeff-jarvis/9798765123959] 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 outrigh

Citizen Twain: Jeff Jarvis on Hot Type, the Magnificent Machine That Gave Birth to Mass Media

“Most people do not understand that this attempted coup was a religious event.” — Congressman Jared Huffman on January 6

 

We’ve featured many stark warnings about the threat of American Christian nationalism from journalists, activists, and religious scholars. Today, that warning comes from inside the government. In No Prophets [https://wwnorton.com/books/9781324130482], Californian congressman Jared Huffman [https://wwnorton.com/books/9781324130482] warns that the threat of Christian nationalism could destroy American democracy. Borrowing from Sinclair Lewis, Huffman argues that when fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying the cross.

 

For Huffman, it’s not an abstract threat. On January 6, 2021, he watched something chillingly close to that theological nightmare unfold from his office on Capitol Hill. The attempted coup was a religious event, he insists. The insurrectionists were radicalized by the New Apostolic Reformation. These fanatics had rooms at the Willard beside Giuliani’s war room, and they preached and prophesied as the riot unfolded.

 

His Republican colleague Adam Kinzinger tells him Christian nationalism “wasn’t just part of the insurrection. It was the whole story, the whole thing.” And yet the 845-page select committee report ignores this story because, Huffman charges, Liz Cheney personally intervened to erase it. “We are less safe today because of it,” he says.

 

Like so many critics of Christian nationalism, Huffman had a religious upbringing. He grew up devout in the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and then was ordained into its priesthood before losing his faith at twenty after his father’s death. Today he is a self-described “humanist,” the co-founder of the Congressional Freethought Caucus, and the only member of Congress who admits to not believing in gods. It’s an American intellectual tradition, he insists, that he shares with fellow religious skeptics like Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, and James Madison.

 

Christian nationalism and the Republican Party, Jared Huffman insists, are now one and the same. Huffman might not believe in gods, but there’s a biblical quality to his apocalyptic warnings. The prophet of No Prophets is putting all that religious training to good secular use.

 

Five Takeaways

 

•       January 6 Was a Religious Event. The book’s foundational claim, witnessed from Huffman’s Capitol Hill office: the insurrection was saturated with religious choreography — symbols, worship services, self-declared prophets exhorting the crowd. The mob was radicalized by groups like the New Apostolic Reformation, a virulent Christian supremacist movement committed to dominion by any means necessary; organizers held rooms at the Willard Hotel beside Giuliani’s war room, were tasked by the Trump campaign with mobilizing right-wing Christians, and preached and prophesied on-site as the riot unfolded. The Smithsonian’s Uncivil Religion exhibit documented it in real time, and Adam Kinzinger told Huffman that Christian nationalism “wasn’t just part of the insurrection. It was the whole story, the whole thing.” Yet the select committee’s 845-page report contains none of it — erased, Huffman charges, by Liz Cheney’s personal intervention. “We are less safe today because of it.”

•       The Endgame Is Theocracy. Trump and the movement are codependent: he mainstreamed fringe prophets into White House VIPs; they supplied mobilization power nothing else in American politics can match, and wrapped him in the “Cyrus anointing” — the mythology of a flawed pagan king used by God to save his chosen people. The Washington operation is Huffman’s “shadow theocracy”: Ralph Drollinger’s Capitol Ministries runs Bible studies teaching officeholders that God oppo

Yes, January 6 Was an Organized Religious Coup: Rep. Jared Huffman on the Christian Nationalist Menace

“Anthropic will be a $3 trillion company, SpaceX $2 trillion, and OpenAI $1 to $1.5 trillion by Q2 of next year.” — Dave McClure

 

Yesterday, Keith Teare and I debated the circularity of the AI economy. Today, two of Silicon Valley’s most experienced investors, Dave McClure [https://practicalvc.com/] and Aman Verjee [https://practicalvc.com/], not only straighten out this supposed “circularity” but also burst the pessimism bubble that envelops so many conversations about AI.

 

Verjee is not only McClure’s partner at Practical Venture Capital, but also the author of the newly published A Brief History of Financial Bubbles [https://bigbubbletrouble.com/]. According to him, today’s AI-stoked economy is not an unusually large bubble. It may not even be a bubble, given that AI revenue — from Anthropic’s $70 billion to OpenAI’s $50 billion — is real. The irrational exuberance lives elsewhere — in companies “draping themselves in AI magic sauce” and in the “SaaSpocalypse” that is decimating software-as-a-service companies.

 

They are both bullish about our AI future. McClure predicts that by the first half of next year, Anthropic and OpenAI will have joined SpaceX as public companies. Together, these three AI darlings will be worth $7 trillion. That’s seven thousand billion reasons to be optimistic about 2027.

 

Five Takeaways

 

•       Not a Bubble — a Repricing. Both partners reject the bubble call, on the numbers: Anthropic at roughly $70 billion in revenue on under two gigawatts of compute, OpenAI at $40–50 billion, SpaceX guiding to $100 billion with more than half from AI — real revenue, increasingly real profits. The froth is specific: companies “draping themselves in AI magic sauce” without the substance, and the SaaSpocalypse — cloud-software companies whose cash flows are suddenly perceived as far less durable as AI encroaches on design, legal, and medical verticals. Michael Burry’s warning gets Aman’s definitive treatment (“he’s called nine of the last two bubbles”), and the Aschenbrenner blowup was leverage — running four-x in volatile chip stocks — not AI: he kept his Anthropic position, is married to Dario’s chief of staff, and “will be just fine.”

•       The $2 Trillion Filing. The week’s news, baked into the episode: Anthropic has filed to go public, with a very intentionally leaked $2 trillion valuation hinging on a $190–200 billion 2028 revenue forecast — which Dave suspects is conservative. Eight months ago, when these two last visited, the show was about Elon and Sam and Dario was the bit player; then came the weeks when decades happen: Anthropic’s bet on coding agents — reportedly inspired by watching Cursor — captured the revenue engine of the entire application layer. Aman’s sequencing: SpaceX is absorbing $75–85 billion of IPO capital, Anthropic goes next, and if both trade well, 2026 breaks every record for money raised — leaving 2027 for OpenAI at a $100 billion revenue guide. Google, he reminds us, went fourth after Yahoo, Lycos, and Excite: better to do it right than to do it first.

•       The Fastest Pivot in Corporate History. Dave’s account of SpaceX’s transformation: the $250 billion xAI merger (a largely private transaction Elon approved with himself), the acquisition of Cursor that closed Friday, Colossus data centers scaling from two gigawatts toward ten, and compute deals renting capacity to Anthropic and Google — former competitors — all executed in roughly six months. The S-1, with unprecedented forward projections of $300 billion in annual revenue, mentions artificial intelligence over 1,100 times (“I used AI to count it,” Aman admits). The result is an economy Andrew calls incestuous: SpaceX’s valuation now rests on Anthropic’s progress. On Elon himself, Dave separates the art from the arti

Our Seven Trillion Dollar Future: Dave McClure & Aman Verjee Burst the AI Pessimism Bubble

“I don’t feel any shame at all recruiting an army of AI agents to help me accomplish my goals. But I think society is trying to make me feel shame.” — Keith Teare

 

Welcome to the summer [https://www.wsj.com/tech/ai/the-summer-that-america-became-a-nation-of-luddites-5e6dc3e7?mod=hp_lead_pos5] of America’s luddite discontent. Not only are left and right calling for an AI ban, but tech loathing has even infiltrated Silicon Valley in the form of Anthropic’s decision to watermark Claude’s output. That, at least, is the view of That Was The Week [https://www.thatwastheweek.com/] publisher Keith Teare [https://www.thatwastheweek.com/], who believes that watermarking is “nuts.”

 

In our luddite zeitgeist, Keith believes that a watermark is a scarlet stamp of implied guilt. By marking its own product, Anthropic is not only furnishing the luddite mob with a convenient surveillance tool, but also acknowledging a tacit guilt about using Claude.

 

“You should never adjust to the market,” the Silicon Valley serial entrepreneur explains. “The market’s wrong nine times out of ten.”

 

As for Dario Amodei, Claude’s dad (so to speak), Keith is even more accusatory. The Anthropic CEO is kissing ass “like a politician, not the leader of a company,” Keith hisses, repeating this week’s whispers that Anthropic is becoming an “ideologically motivated cult.” If Dario were female, Keith would probably make him a witch. Or, at least, a hussy — the hysterical implication, if not the word, of the Journal’s profile [https://www.wsj.com/tech/ai/claude-dario-amodei-wife-anthropic-e1eeda7d] of Cami Clark, Dario’s wife.

 

I took Anthropic’s side — somebody had to. I see watermarking as just another AI tool. It’s an honest human fingerprint in an age of fakery. Live by the algorithm, die by it too. Anyway, a watermark has its uses. Rather than moral opprobrium, it feeds our curiosity about who is and isn’t using AI. So, for example, I ran Keith’s editorial through another AI detector and it indicated 86 percent AI-generated while mine came back as 100 percent human. And if I can elude the scarlet stamp, then even I might have to join the luddite mob.

 

Five Takeaways

 

•       “Watermarking Is Nuts.” Keith’s editorial takes aim at Anthropic’s decision to watermark Claude’s output — invisible text signals identifying the machine’s hand, cousin to what Google has long done with audio. His objection isn’t the mark itself (“I don’t care that it’s watermarked. I care that Anthropic thinks it should be watermarked”): a watermark starts from suspicion, implies a problem where none exists, and tells Anthropic’s own customers their use of the product needs flagging. Restream doesn’t watermark this show; Adobe doesn’t watermark its exports. To Keith it’s pure zeitgeist capitulation — and while one Claude Max subscriber in the newsletter canceled in protest, Keith hasn’t. Andrew’s rebuttal: watermarking serves curiosity, and in an age of fakery an honest fingerprint is a very human addition.

•       The Scarlet Watermark: On AI Shame. The deeper argument was theological. Keith — an atheist who concedes atheism is also a faith, and who believes in good and bad but not sin — feels no shame “recruiting an army of AI agents” so long as he can stand by the output; shame belongs to spam factories and fakers who publish unread. But society, he says, is trying to make him feel it: the canceled author who lost his agent last week proves there’s an issue. Andrew, playing therapist, diagnosed a flicker of guilt anyway — and argued shame is precisely the point: one of the last all-too-human spaces, worth preserving in an age of machines. Both then confessed their methods on air: Pangram scored Keith’s editorial 86 percent AI and Andrew’s 100 percent human. “I’m a clev

The Scarlet Summer of Our Luddite Discontent: Opening Up on AI Shame & Anthropic Watermarks

“The machines today are like toddlers learning how to walk. They stumble. They’re not very good. They make mistakes.” — Anmol Madan

 

One in three American adults are already using AI for health information — with or without their doctors’ permission. The machines, in other words, are already seeing us. This will chill some Americans in our summer [https://www.wsj.com/tech/ai/the-summer-that-america-became-a-nation-of-luddites-5e6dc3e7?mod=hp_lead_pos5] of luddite discontent. For others, however, like the San Francisco-based medical tech entrepreneur Anmol Madan [https://www.anmolmadan.com/], the appearance of doctor AI in our lives is mostly good news.

 

In his new book, The Machines Will See You Now [https://www.anmolmadan.com/], Madan lays out what he calls a “human roadmap” to “autonomous health care.” I’m not entirely sure what he means by “human” in a Blade Runner-style world where machine and man are quickly merging. But by “autonomous,” which I suspect is a euphemism, Madan means artificial intelligence.

 

What worries Madan about our current moment is the broken dialogue over AI. On the one hand, we have tech utopians promising a totally automated healthcare industry. Then we have an anxious establishment struggling to change America’s archaic and often dysfunctional medical system. And, of course, American consumers (if that’s the right word) who are already using ChatGPT or, more troublingly, TikTok, as their doctor.

 

America spends $4.7 trillion on a healthcare industry which compares poorly with the medical systems of other wealthy countries. Madan’s “parallel universe,” he promises, would cost half as much and double access. The machines will see you now. Like it or not, Dr AI is our all-too-human future.

 

Five Takeaways

 

•       One in Three Already Ask the Machines. The KFF poll behind the episode: a third of American adults already use AI for health information, with or without their doctors’ blessing — and if they’re not asking ChatGPT, they’re asking TikTok. Madan’s frustration is the broken dialogue between AI exuberance (“we’re going to automate healthcare”) and medical anxiety, when the right answer is in between: new technology is no excuse for throwing out the guardrails of medical devices and clinical safety. The stakes are the brutal arithmetic of American medicine — $4.7 trillion spent for the worst outcomes among peer nations — and his “parallel universe”: half the cost, twice the access, delivered by AI systems that are tested, safe, and rigorous. Consumer appetite is already there; the safeguards are not.

•       The Waymo Scale for Medicine. The book’s organizing framework applies the self-driving industry’s levels of autonomy to healthcare. Level zero is today: 99 percent of decisions — diagnosis, treatment, prescription — made by humans. Level one is doctor assistance, already deployed: radiologists who once hauled backpacks of reports now guided by machines to where to focus. Levels two and three ease machines into the lowest-stakes treatment and diagnostic decisions with human review — and the fully autonomous end state, Madan concedes, may never arrive. To Andrew’s objection that Waymo’s scale ended with the drivers removed, Madan offers the transatlantic pilot: autopilot flies ninety percent of the route, and nobody thinks the pilot doesn’t matter. The structure, he argues, is what lets regulators, doctors, and builders finally talk about the same thing.

•       Toddlers Learning to Walk. Madan’s metaphor for today’s medical AI: toddlers — stumbling, error-prone, needing layers of protection, and badly underestimated at their peril and ours. The mistake, he argues, is concluding that because the systems aren’t perfect we shouldn’t try them at all, when a constraine

The Machines Will See You Now: Anmol Madan's Human Roadmap to AI Health Care

Andrew Keen (@ajkeen) · Zencastr

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