The Probability Broach, chapter 2

The second chapter of TPB begins with a vignette:

ATLANTA (FNS) – Over 100 heavily armed agents of the Patents Registration Tactical Arm staged an early-morning raid on a small suburban home here, ending the fugitive careers of two Coca-Cola executives, in hiding since January. Federal News Service has learned that the two, listed in warrants as “John Doe” and “James Roe” were taken to Washington’s Bethesda Naval Hospital for what PRTA officials term “therapy.” Unofficially, spokespersons expressed hope that the two would divulge certain “secret formulas” held for over 100 years by the Atlanta-based multinational corporation. Proprietary secrets of this nature have been illegal since passage last year of the “Emergency Disclosure Act.”

—The Denver News-Post
July 7, 1987

L. Neil Smith is mocking what he sees as government’s power-mad tendencies. In his view, the state deprives people of what rightfully belongs to them. This includes sending jackbooted thugs to persecute corporations and deprive them of their valuable intellectual property.

But there’s a problem: in his preferred politics, the same thing would happen. In an anarcho-libertarian society, it’s impossible for patents to exist!

Smith believes that there should be no government and no laws – full stop. That means no protection for intellectual property. If you invent a great new product, anyone else can reverse-engineer it and start selling it themselves.

We’ll return to this point in a moment, but first, let’s pick up the storyline. Among the late Dr. Vaughn Meiss’ possessions, Win finds a business card for the “Colorado Propertarian Party”. It’s the only lead he has, so he goes to check them out.

The Propertarians rent a suite in a grubby office building on the bad side of town. Win knocks and lets himself into their office:

The place was freshly painted and didn’t smell of piss like the rest of the building. It was brightly decorated with posters: “ILLEGITIMATE AUTHORITY” IS A REDUNDANCY and TAXATION IS THEFT! A small desk with a telephone and answering machine occupied one corner beside a rack of pamphlets. I could hear the illegal rumble of an air conditioner. First time I’d been comfortable all day.

A woman entered, tall and slender, thirtyish, lots of curly auburn hair and freckles. She wore the jacket to a woman’s business suit and faded blue jeans, a lapel button declaring I Am Not a National Resource! “I’m Jennifer Noble. Vaughn is dead?”

Win asks some questions about Vaughn and his beliefs, trying to get a handle on who might have wanted him dead. Jennifer Noble, who carries the exposition ball in this scene, explains their politics to Win: “Propertarians believe that all human rights are property rights, beginning with absolute ownership of your own life.”

This sounds reasonable, but on closer look, it falls apart. Smith holds property rights as sacred, but believes there should be no government. Those positions are self-contradictory.

Property rights (and rights in general) don’t just exist of their own accord. They’re not natural phenomena, the way mountains and storm systems are. They’re human creations; they arise as the result of a democratic covenant, and they can only survive if there’s a government that upholds the rule of law. Without a means of enforcement, people are helpless to stop others from stealing the things they create.

A case in point is the story of Ephraim Bull, a 19th-century American horticulturist who tried to breed a grape that could grow in New England’s cold climate. He spent years planting, crossbreeding and selecting vines, until he came up with a sweet, fragrant, cold-hardy cultivar: the Concord grape.

The Concord grape was a runaway success. To this day, it’s the most commercially successful variety, widely used to make products like jelly, juice and wine. But Bull made almost no profit from it, because nobody bought the grapes from his vineyard. They just planted the seeds and grew their own. Bull’s bitter epitaph reads: “He Sowed, Others Reaped”.

In an anarchist society such as Smith envisions, with no patent laws or courts, this kind of thing would happen all the time. Companies could skip burdensome, expensive R&D and just copy their competitors’ products. Of course, this is a Prisoner’s Dilemma that ends up in a race to the bottom. Any one business can reason thusly: Why should we pay the cost of innovation when everyone else will free-ride on our efforts? And if everyone reasons this way, innovation grinds to a halt.

An even bigger problem is plagiarism. If I’m an author and I publish a book, someone else can print their own copy and sell it. In fact, they can sell it for cheaper than I can, because they didn’t have to pay the upfront costs of writing it!

This would be a massive disincentive to authors, especially for research-heavy nonfiction and academic works like textbooks. It would make it virtually impossible to write for a living. (Even as it is, plagiarism is a gigantic problem on Amazon; imagine how much worse it would be if there was no copyright at all.)

The same problem applies to all art. In an anarchy, there’s no law against piracy. If you spend hundreds of millions of dollars to make a movie, with top-notch actors and expensive special effects, can I just videotape it and hold screenings in my living room, paying you none of the royalties? If you’re a musician and put your blood, sweat and tears into a new album, can I buy one copy, churn out my own recordings and undercut you by selling them?

In an anarchist society, people only have what rights they can protect by themselves. If you squint and fuzz your vision, you can imagine how you might be able to defend your person, or your house, against someone with evil intentions. But it’s obvious how impossible this would be for abstract rights. If I invent a new gizmo or write a book, would I have to become a globetrotting vigilante, tracking down anyone anywhere who infringes it and using my own gun to enforce my copyright against them?

This is a wedge issue for libertarians. Ayn Rand believed in patents (an evil government forcing her heroes to surrender their patents is an important plot point in Atlas Shrugged), although she ran into philosophical difficulties justifying their legitimacy while also claiming to oppose initiation of force. Still, at least she understood how patent rights could incentivize research and creativity.

L. Neil Smith never comes to terms with this problem. His anarcho-libertarian utopia has ultra-advanced technology, but it just exists magically, as if it materialized out of thin air. We meet a few of the people who invent it, but there’s no explanation of where their funding comes from, or how anyone could have this as a job if there’s no reasonable expectation of turning a profit from it.

Image credit: Wikimedia Commons, released under CC BY 2.0 license

New reviews of The Probability Broach are published every Friday on my Patreon page. Sign up to see new posts early and get other bonus stuff!

The Probability Broach, chapter 1

Among the possessions of murder victim Vaughn Meiss, Win Bear spots something unusual:

The ambulance was ready to take our client to the taxidermists downtown. One of the techs passed by with a collection of plastic baggies containing personal effects. “Hold on. Let me see that.” He handed over a bright golden disk, larger than the silver dollars I remembered from childhood, in deep relief a picture of a bald-headed old coot with ruffles at his throat:

ALBERT GALLATIN
1761 C.E.-A.L. 76
REVOLUTIONIST, PRESIDENT, SCHOLAR OF LIBERTY

On the other side, an old-fashioned hillbilly whiskey jug, and forest-covered hills behind:

ONE METRIC OUNCE
GOLD 999 FINE
THE LAPORTE INDUSTRIAL BANK, L.T.D.

Win is puzzling over the strange coin and the unfamiliar dating system it bears when he’s interrupted by Oscar Burgess, the state security thug mentioned last week. Burgess doesn’t hesitate to pull rank, announcing that he’s taking over the investigation, which Win finds suspicious:

“What brings SecPol into a simple street killing, Burgess?”

… “You ought to know better than to ask foolish questions. We’re thinking about preempting this case – National Security. When the papers come through, you’ll have to turn everything over to us and go back to busting jaywalkers.” He grinned and watched his men confronting mine, knuckles white on holstered pistol grips all around.

“Didn’t realize there was a full moon last night, Oscar,” I said. He turned back, puzzled. I pointed to a tiny cut on his pockmarked forehead, dried blood at the edges. “Cut yourself shaving?”

He whitened. “Mind your own stinking business, Bear, or I’ll have you back working curfew violations!”

This, of course, is the injury that Win infers Meiss’ killer must have suffered. The book all but shouts it, so it’s not a spoiler to say that Burgess is the killer.

The reason he murdered Meiss, rather than arresting him, won’t be revealed until later. However, it has no meaningful impact on the plot, so I’ll spoil it here: Burgess has gone rogue. He’s running his own scheme on the side that he doesn’t want his superiors to know about yet.

After delivering the stock “you’re off the case” message, Burgess storms out. Win holds onto the coin, spitefully resolving to pursue the investigation on his own:

I signed six different forms and took the coin, to be surrendered at Properties tomorrow, on pain of pain. Eventually it would wind up in some bureaucrat’s pocket, or melted down to feed a multi-quadrillion neobuck federal deficit. Probably the former.

This is another detail that’s only vaguely sketched in, but it seems that in this dystopia, individual possession of gold has been outlawed. Win narrates: “Gold, legally kosher a few brief years ago, was presently hotter than vitamin C”.

This is reminiscent of when FDR made it illegal to own gold in 1933. It was a first step toward getting the U.S. off the gold standard, which was strangling economic recovery and prolonging the Great Depression. As long as the government was constrained by the requirement to be able to redeem dollars for gold, it was hobbled in what actions it could take. It was an arbitrary and artificial limit on the money supply that led to a deflationary spiral.

When the dollar was no longer tied to a finite gold reserve, the government could issue debt to pay for New Deal social programs, kickstarting the economy and ending the depression. The plan worked as intended, but despite its success – or more likely because of its success – libertarians and other goldbugs are still mad about it. They believe that the confiscation of gold inaugurated an era of government tyranny. There’s an echo of that reaction in this book.

The unusual thing is that unlike Ayn Rand, who declared that gold was “the objective value”, Smith doesn’t believe gold has any exalted metaphysical status. In his utopia, there are competing private currencies backed by commodities like wheat, iron, even whiskey. This is a consistent application of his anarchist politics.

But in spite of this, he persists in treating gold as specially significant. It’s no coincidence that the first big clue is a gold coin from another world (rather than, say, a paper banknote). It’s also not by chance that Smith’s tyrannical government hoards gold as part of its program of social control.

Libertarians have always assigned a talismanic, almost religious status to gold. They believe it’s “real” money in a way that fiat currency isn’t. Gold fever is so common among Smith’s ideological confreres, it seems he’s unconsciously adopted the same attitude, even though his philosophy doesn’t require him to. It’s almost like a vestigial trait.