A Republic of Letters
By ROBERT DARNTON
Published: August 20, 2010
Intellectual property has become such a hot topic that it needs to be
doused with some history. Strange as it may sound, this is an argument
developed convincingly in Lewis Hyde’s “Common as Air,” an eloquent and
erudite plea for protecting our cultural patrimony from appropriation by
commercial interests.
The history that Hyde invokes goes back to the Middle Ages, when
villagers enjoyed collective rights to common lands, but for the most
part it is situated in the era of the founding fathers. Hyde invokes the
founders in order to warn us against a new enclosure movement, one that
would fence off large sectors of the public domain — in science, the
arts, literature, and the entire world of knowledge — in order to
exploit monopolies.
He cites plenty of examples from Hollywood, the pharmaceutical industry,
agribusiness, and the swarm of lobbyists who transform public knowledge
into private preserves by manipulating laws for the protection of
intellectual property. Then he draws on Franklin, Adams, Jefferson and
Madison for arguments against such privatization.
On the face of it, this way of defending the cultural commons might seem
dubious, because the kind of knowledge that led to the Human Genome
Project and the Internet was not dreamt of in the philosophies of the
founders. To argue against Jack Valenti and the Motion Picture Association of America by leaping across two centuries could be wildly anachronistic.
To be sure, the founders built up a stockpile of quotable chunks of
wisdom. Jefferson: “The field of knowledge is the common property of
mankind.” Franklin: “That as we enjoy great advantages from the
inventions of others, we should be glad of an opportunity to serve
others by any invention of ours, and this we should do freely and
generously.” The United States Constitution, Article I, Section 8,
Clause 8, providing for copyrights and patents “to promote the progress
of science and the useful arts, by securing for limited times to authors
and inventors the exclusive right to their respective writings and
discoveries.” But the devil can quote Jefferson, and lawyers can
construe the Constitution in ways that restrict knowledge rather than
promote it.
Hyde, the author of “The Gift” (1983), a defense of the noncommercial
aspects of art, does not merely cull the works of the founding fathers
for quotations. He pitches his argument at a level where historians and
political philosophers have contributed most to our understanding of
intellectual history. Instead of treating the ideas of the founders as
self-contained units of meaning, he explores their interconnections and
shows how they shared a common conceptual frame. Not that he pretends to
have uncovered anything unknown to the authorities he cites, notably
the historian J. G. A. Pocock, whose studies of civic republicanism
reveal how early modern philosophers drew on a current of thought about
the nature of citizenship that goes back to ancient Greece and Rome.
Hyde builds his argument by telling stories, and he tells them well. His
book brims with vignettes, which may be familiar but complement one
other in ways that produce original insights.