Is There Such a Thing as a Free Lunch…in the Scifi World?

Art and commerce have long had an uneasy relationship. In fact, I can’t help thinking about economics and writing without being reminded of the saying attributed to Moliere, the French playwright: “Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money.”

In other words, there’s a not too subtle association of pure artistry with poverty and an equally strong suggestion that if you write for money you’re somehow whoring yourself out…but we’ll come back to that point. What interests me is a subject that’s less frequently discussed even than art or sex: economics, specifically, economics in fiction. This means everything from how economic forces are shown to shape human identity and desire (hint: it’s usually bad) to how authors and their characters conceptualize economics.

I’d like to start with science fiction and the Free Lunch Question. In his SF classic The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, science fiction grandmaster (and libertarian) Robert Heinlein popularized the term TANSTAAFL which means “There Ain’t No Such Thing As A Free Lunch.” Meant to show the down to earth (ha!) pragmatism of his lunar colonists whose tough situations stripped all fantasies away from their economic calculations, TANSTAAFL has passed in to science fiction fandom as a generalized accepted truth. It even makes an appearance in Wikipedia where the entry on the phrase indicates it shows an understanding of opportunity costs.

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress came out in 1966. Flash forward 35 years to another writer, Spider Robinson (who was, early in his career, tagged as the next Heinlein), and we have The Free Lunch. Now, given Robinson’s well-known appreciation of Heinlein (he’s written a gushing essay on Heinlein and finished a work Heinlein left as a stack of notes), from the title alone I’d to assume this is meant to be read as an open and direct answer to the master, and that suspicion is confirmed in Chapter 17 when one of the main characters thinks of how universally true this “Heinlein proverb” has been.

But what does Spider offer in its proverbial place? The Free Lunch, while pleasant, falls decidedly short in its understanding of economics, especially Friedrich Hayek on prices. Robinson gives us a lovely portrait of a multi-sensory amusement park (Dreamworld), characters who are genius outcasts with hearts of gold, and a string of fun encounters that make the book a good light read. However, the free lunch that gives the book its title is, well, silly, and it’s tied in to an extremely complex plot twist.

A number of weak, dwarfish time travelers have come back to our time to interfere with the flow of history and make a new world. You see, humanity so polluted the world that it has poisoned itself. The crux point is suspiciously close to our own time; they must act now or miss the chance and let the world poison itself. These time travelers decide that most of the problems humanity’s had have come from “insufficient wealth” and that they’ll solve this by secretly using their advanced technologies to make everyone rich. Leaving aside a number of problems (Is this really where our problems come from? If they have this superior technology, why don’t they fix their damaged genes?), there’s still a major question of information contamination.

Among his other contributions, Hayek showed that prices function to communicate dense amounts of information. Pumping free goods into the economy, making technologies work better than they should, and increasing production by making software bug free, the idea is that the free lunch will enable us to build a civilization strong enough to weather the coming crash.

While this shows Robinson’s well-established good heart, I have to squint and say…hmm. You’ll destroy the price system and increase production and consumption to ward off an ecological crisis? I think, my friend, that your free lunch will be quite costly in the end.

But perhaps I’m wrong. Take a look at The Free Lunch and let me—and Spider—know what you think.

American University Research

University, Inc.: The Corporate Corruption of American Higher Education. By Jennifer Washburn. Basic Books, 2005. 326 pages. $26.00.

University, Inc.: The Corporate Corruption of American Higher Education is a necessary book but also a sobering, even depressing one. If you’re concerned about your health, your education or your country, you won’t enjoy what you read in these pages…but you should read University, Inc.

Science is the reason. While numerous theorists since World War II have worked to theorize and complicate the process of knowledge creation in science—Thomas Kuhn’s work comes to mind immediately—the ideal of science as a disinterested arbiter of truth remains. In this vision of what science should be, truth matters. We trust scientific reports because of this aura of dedication, even purity. In these pages Jennifer Washburn documents just how tainted science has become.

Its transformation has not come through malicious intent. Indeed, as Washburn explains, at many points throughout this transformation, science and education have been changed with the best of intentions. As Washburn points out in her historical overview of higher education articulated in the book’s second chapter, scientific research in this country has long had two fairly distinct mandates. One was to pursue pure, abstract research. The other was to engage in practical research, especially applied research that would help the people in a university’s region, as has long been the case with the nation’s agricultural colleges.

However, in progressive steps since World War II—and especially since the 1970s when economic downturns led to a general increase in federal investment in science as a way to spark economic recovery—academic research has shifted not just to the applied and practical but also to a market model. What this means, Washburn explains, is a number of things. First, following the passage of the Bayh-Dole Act in 1980, rather than new ideas flowing freely from universities outward to the community, universities have emphasized research that can be patented—and have retained the patents on these discoveries. This means that universities shift to what Washburn calls “Market-Model U.” In itself, this is not all bad. As someone who has taught in state colleges, I can attest to the waste found in some systems and the inefficiency and the dated slowness with which things are executed. If it were possible to infuse just the efficiency and pace of the finest private enterprises, this would be a good thing.

It hasn’t been possible to do only that, though, Washburn argues. Instead, as federal funding for higher education dried up, universities sought funding elsewhere, producing an increased emphasis on corporate funding. Washburn documents a second effect which is how this has chilled academic research. Stories of graduate students who, due to contractual obligations, can’t share their work, even with their own professors, should make readers blink, as should the anecdotes about faculty members stealing student work. Greed drives dishonesty in Washburn’s account.

This leads to a third damning trend: bias. Any bias in a scientific study should be disturbing, but Chapter 5, in which Washburn documents the systematic distortion of medical studies, should make readers more than a little queasy. These distortions range from the relatively benign (reporting a test drug has a positive effect when it has little or none) to the literally deadly. Deaths have been covered up, as have risks of death, so that drugs can be brought to market for profit. The conclusion is clear: whatever the ideal of science once was, it is not strong enough to stand up to temptation. Self-interest rules.

To be frank, the later chapters are not as strong as these early ones exposing abuses. The attempts to shape new Silicon Valleys and revive regions may fail, but their intentions are good and not necessarily driven by greed (except for prestige and regional pride). Washburn’s discussion of academic employment patterns is not bad, but it is insufficient. What’s more, that she really isn’t that concerned about these is witnessed by the final chapter: all the suggestions for reform focus on intellectual property and clinical research. The attempts to change the nature of education through the use of superstar education may repel some, but it needs to be put into a much larger and more detailed context. It seems more a symptom of the Information Age and what podcasts and computers offer than of the market model per se. How, for example, does MIT’s choice to put its courses online for free fit with this? In other words, the changes detailed in this book are part of a wider redefinition of the ownership of knowledge, a shift linked to everything from music downloads to Wikipedia, and needs to be put in that context.

While my objections matter, and I wish the second half of the book were better (richer, fuller, more inclusive and complex), the expose that fills University, Inc.’s chapters on science and medicine struck fear in my heart, and I suspect they’ll do the same for other readers.

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