There was some discussion in the readings this week about ethics vs. legality. This is a discussion that I frequently like to visit and consider in my own time. I find ethical considerations in general quite fascinating, mostly because it seems to be so important to peoples’ individualities. At the same time those individuals believe that their precedents are universal, or can at least be more broadly applied. This dichotomy seems to occur in many places—I am reminded of my own behavior saying that there are different historical interpretations to an issue, while at the same time ardently arguing for only one: usually my preferred interpretation. While there was a discussion in Deaccesioning about the difference between legal standard and ethical standards, it seems that most of those ethical standards derive from some legal basis. That is to say that when I consider it unethical to sell an artifact on the open market, I find the grounds for that ethic with an allusion to theft. Perhaps this is just the effects of growing up in a society that is completely saturated with the idea of law—a republic. Or perhaps it is something more. That is a discussion for another day, so you just read all of that to whet your appetite for what I really wanted to discuss: who owns the truth?
In Mining the Museum the question was asked, “Do museums have corners on historical ‘Truths’?” I believe this to be possibly the most important question that can be asked in consideration of public history. A shift has taken place in museums over the ages. They have gone from giant collections used mostly as bases for classification to interpretive devices (this was discussed last week). Generally truth is talked about in terms of interpretation. If that is the case, then it seems museums—and by extrapolation the historians working in those museums—are putting themselves in an extremely precarious position of dividing truth. If people trust museums to provide some sort of truth, and we as historians believe that truth to be a matter of interpretation, then are we not presenting a mere representation of the truth? And if this is the case and we are knowingly presenting something that is a matter of interpretation as truth, is that not deceptive? Is it then ethical to allow people to believe that what they are seeing is truth? The answer to this seems to be a disclaimer—a legal liability limiter. So we are right back at law versus ethics.
So this leads me to consider another issue and that is whether I am using law as a convenient cop out of the ethical quandary that is so often public history. In Deaccessioning the suggestion was presented to create written ethics standards. Perhaps ironically that sounds a lot like a legal codex. The discussion becomes further muddled when one realizes that it is extremely difficult to create ethical standards or legal standards for every situation. The ramifications for these questions crosscut every section of public history, from questions of artifacts—where they came from and who they belong to and how they were acquired—to administration—who owns the museum and their right to direct the presentation. While it seems that drawing a line between ethics and law is a solution, there seems to be a very practical and necessary relationship between the two and public historians ought to consider the cross-section or these.