A T.
For decades, paleontologists have treated this as the obvious symptom of what's wrong. The financialization of science, the privatization of knowledge, and specimens locked away from research are all contributing factors. They're looking at the wrong wound.
The real diagnosis is that we're reliving the Bone Wars. Between 1877 and 1892, Othniel Marsh and Edward Cope—two paleontologists with institutional backing and bruised egos—spent a fortune in a collecting frenzy across the American West.
They hired rival teams, bribed railroad workers. Shipped hundreds of specimens back to their respective institutions—many incomplete, many never fully described. Cope alone accumulated over 10,000 specimens. The result was not a scientific treasure. It was gridlock.
The mechanism wasn't greed alone. It was what happens when price signals become detached from actual scarcity. High auction prices don't prove specimens are rare—they prove that collectors are willing to pay for exclusivity. Each sale signals value. Each signal draws more money.
The difference now is institutional collapse in the other direction. Museums can't afford expeditions anymore. They compete for grants against medical research, climate science, infectious disease. There's no Marsh or Cope with deep pockets and a university willing to fund a counter-expedition. So the market fills the void.
The question worth watching is whether museums will eventually pool resources to systematically reacquire and study what collectors bought for status. If they don't, you're watching the entire business model of collaborative knowledge become optional—something scientists depend on when they can afford it, not something the institution guarantees. That should worry anyone building something that requires access they don't own.