After the UK Prime Minister recently cancelled a meeting with his Greek counterpart over the latter's comments concerning the return of the Parthenon Marbles it has sparked an evolving debate over their rightful place. Rather than rebuffing such calls, the repatriation of some of the world's most valuable cultural treasures should serve as an opportunity to evaluate the ways in which the impacts of Empire persist to this day, writes Daniel Butt.
In a BBC interview in 1985, Sir David Wilson, then Director of the British Museum, was asked about the feasibility of returning what are variably called the Parthenon or the Elgin Marbles to Greece. “Oh, anything can be done”, he replied. “That’s what Hitler said. That’s what Mussolini said when he got the Italian trains to run on time.” Challenged on whether he was really suggesting that this comparison was warranted, he persisted. “I think this is cultural fascism. It’s nationalism and it’s cultural danger. Enormous cultural danger. If you start to destroy great intellectual institutions, you are culturally fascist… You are destroying the whole fabric of intellectual achievement… It’s like burning books.”
The British Museum’s approach to public relations has become somewhat more conciliatory over the years, but both the Museum and the British Government continue to emphasise arguments rooted in cultural value in opposing appeals for the return of the Marbles to Athens. Claims about cultural property can be backward-looking or forward-looking. The former look to the historical lineage of the resource in question: who created it, who inherited it, who, if anyone, might be deemed to have legitimately acquired it, through gift or trade? The latter stress the value that will be realised by locating the resource in a particular place: who will be able to see it, to whom will it be most meaningful, what comparisons and contrasts will audiences be able to make by seeing the resource in juxtaposition with other holdings? British claims to the Marbles have certainly often had a backward-looking dimension, but the Earl of Elgin’s actions are far from unimpeachable from a contemporary perspective. Critics have challenged his motivations in seeking to acquire the Marbles for his own private museum, disputed whether he in fact had permission to remove the sculptures in question, and pointed out that the limited authorisation he had in 1801 came, in any case, from the Ottoman Empire that was at that time occupying Athens, prior to the Greek War of Independence.
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There is a moral shadow even over those which were seemingly obtained through legitimate trade, given the extent to which Britain’s purchasing power was itself a function of its colonial activities.
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From 1835 onwards, Greek governments have appealed for the return of the Marbles. Greek claims typically have both backward-looking and forward-dimensions. The Marbles are seen as a critical part of Greek cultural heritage. Modern Greece is, of course, not the same entity as classical Athens, but the latter is claimed as part of the inheritance of the former: just as no one would dispute contemporary Greek jurisdiction over the Parthenon itself, so, it is claimed, the same principle should apply to its contents. In resisting such appeals, Britain has claimed historical justification for its actions in acquiring the Marbles from Elgin in 1816, stressing in particular the damage that the Parthenon suffered while under Ottoman control. But it has also emphasised the forward-looking case for retaining the sculptures in London in one of the world’s great repositories of cultural value. The British Museum is portrayed as both a guardian of cultural heritage, preserving artworks for future generations, and a catalyst for intellectual creation, inspiring the artists of the future by allowing them to access many of the world’s greatest works in one place. At times, arguments for the restitution of the Marbles are portrayed as petty and nationalistic, contrasted with the cosmopolitan mindset which takes a more elevated view of human history, stressing our shared cultural heritage and not worrying too much about the tawdry details of precisely how certain works of art have ended up in particular places. Confusingly, however, at other times arguments for retention seem themselves to be grounded in national self-interest, stressing the contribution that access to the Marbles has made to London and Britain’s own cultural development, and noting the economic benefits of preserving the integrity of one of the world’s great cultural (and indeed tourist) destinations. And of course, lurking variably at the back or the forefront of public and private debate is the nagging question – if the Marbles go, then what is next?
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The question is well taken. It is not that one cannot make a claim that the Marbles are in many ways exceptional, and that the case for their restitution is particularly compelling. Their beauty and cultural significance are uncontested – one can hardly have a better provenance than the Parthenon, and there is obvious aesthetic appeal to the prospect of the reunification of the surviving sculptures of the Acropolis in Greece, a point made by the Greek Prime Minister recently, comparing the separation of the sculptures to having the Mona Lisa torn in two pieces. The story of their journey from Athens to Bloomsbury is for many grubby and depressing. One can contest just how much of the frieze was either retrieved from the ground or hacked off the wall at Elgin’s bequest, one can dispute to what extent Elgin’s actions were permissible, legal, or venal, and one can argue about whether they have in fact been well cared for by the British Museum, but two truths seem incontrovertible. First, there is no sense in which their presence in the UK reflects the wishes of the Greek people, historic or contemporary. Second, there is no basis for maintaining that they will be better preserved in London than in Athens, now that the Acropolis Museum has been constructed and awaits their return. Even if one thought that the UK had acted in good faith throughout, motivated solely by the worthy sentiment of preserving the Marbles for a period when they were at risk, this would not justify holding on the sculptures in the present day. If your house is on fire and I rescue your beloved family portrait, I can congratulate myself on my noble actions – but it would be utterly bizarre to think I get to keep the picture afterwards.
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The world is entering, indeed has already entered, an age in which the Napoleonic vision of the great museums of the West as the custodians of all that is of supreme value in world culture seems both undesirable and unjust.
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But, of course, Britain has not been, and is not, noble. And this truth lies at the rotten heart of the case. The Marbles are exceptional in many senses, but in one they are commonplace: they represent another legacy of Empire, another instance among many of a colonial power throwing its weight around, serving its own interest, and subsequently attempting to justify its actions. The holdings of the British Museum did not end up in Bloomsbury by chance: much of its contents stem from Britain’s imperial age. Some look from a contemporary perspective to be straightforwardly instances of colonial plunder, others were obtained through dubious means that we would now see as exploitative. There is a moral shadow even over those which were seemingly obtained through legitimate trade, given the extent to which Britain’s purchasing power was itself a function of its colonial activities. And it is an uncomfortable truth that querying the provenance of the Marbles does indeed raise any number of difficult questions for contemporary Britons. Museum holdings are certainly a part of that, and the British Museum has difficult questions to answer not only to the Greeks, but to the descendants of victims of injustice across the world, from Nigeria to China, and from Ethiopia to Rapa Nui. But the debate over the restitution of the Marbles is also paradigmatic of Britain’s refusal to confront its own past with candour and honesty. There are sincere arguments that can be made in relation to museums about the preservation of cultural heritage, about accessibility to the public, about how to balance national storytelling with narratives that span decades and continents. But they cannot be made in good faith when they are deployed selectively to serve one’s national interest, and when they substitute for a full reckoning with the legacy of the past.
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Ill-gotten plunder may be one of the most obvious legacies of the past, but it is far from the only way in which contemporary social and economic structures are rooted in historic injustice.
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So what, then, of the slippery slope argument – what other holdings would follow the restituted Marbles through the front door of the British Museum? Slippery slope arguments have obvious rhetorical force (“if A, then B! If B, then C! If C, then D! And you wouldn’t want D, would you?!”), but often they should be resisted. The correct response is generally to exercise judgement when navigating the downward descent: to make careful distinctions, and show why, on balance, it makes sense to stop after A or B, before we need to reckon with the unpalatable D. But sometimes the better response is to bite the bullet as we slip fully down the slope. It is true the return of the Marbles would set an important precedent. This precedent need not be for an unreflective emptying of the West’s museums – there is no reason to think that everything in the British Museum is the result of colonial plunder, even though this does seem true of some crucial elements of the current collections. But though museums are themselves, in a sense, cultural artefacts, this does not mean that they should be set in aspic. They change with time, and both their holdings and their displays – what is acquired, what is retained, and what is shown to the public – reflect the circumstances of their age. And the world is entering, indeed has already entered, an age in which the Napoleonic vision of the great museums of the West as the custodians of all that is of supreme value in world culture seems both undesirable and unjust.
So the UK may need to accept that a future British Museum will indeed be altered, and perhaps to some degree diminished, in comparison to its nineteenth or twentieth century counterpart. This follows from the fact that Britain is desperately overdue a comprehensive and honest evaluation of the ways that the harms and benefits of Empire persist into the present. Ill-gotten plunder may be one of the most obvious legacies of the past, but it is far from the only way in which contemporary social and economic structures are rooted in historic injustice. A joined-up response to the aftermath of colonialism will certainly involve cultural property, but it should go far further. There is no reason why museums should be left isolated on the frontline of the culture war.
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