A: Congratulations on your windfall—that’s quite a coup in these lean times. And that’s some donor you have there. She certainly seems to like handing out apples—perhaps even apples of discord. (This one sure seems to have riled your museum family.) Did you consider returning that check, uncashed, as quickly as possible? No? Well, okay, then, what shall you do with this money?

You might expect that this would be an open and shut case from AAM’s perspective. For over two decades, AAM has been challenging museums to redefine themselves as educational institutions and make education central to their public service. We also encourage museums to place their assets at the service of communities to support their social, economic and moral development. Do this, AAM has argued, and the museum can become an active, visible player in civic life, a safe haven, and a trusted incubator of change. So it stands to reason that your institution would come down squarely on the side of people over stuff, audience over accessions, kids over collections, right?

Well, maybe, but not so fast. While we mean what we say about museums being defined by their educational mission as much as by their collections, it doesn’t necessarily follow that expanding your audience rather than your collections is the best use of such a gift for every museum, in every circumstance, all the time.

To see how this might be, we invite you to join us in a little casuistry. Rest easy; we’re not proposing that you wriggle off the ethical hook. Instead, we simply want to offer a new approach to thinking about what ethics require.

As a technical term in philosophy, casuistry simply means case-based reasoning—an approach to ethics that starts with the facts of a particular case rather than with general theory. It’s often used in such fraught areas as medical ethics. Members of hospital ethics review boards often find that by concentrating rigorously on the details of a particular patient’s case, they can agree on the right thing to do for this patient. Even though each member of the board may rely on a different ethical argument to get there: the priest on a religious argument, the philosopher on a utilitarian argument, the economist on a cost-benefit analysis and so forth. They do not have to agree on first principles to agree on an ethical course of action for a given case.

Let’s see how this might play out with your scenario. Imagine two museums, each of which receives a gift identical to the one you have been offered. Museum A is a university-affiliated natural history museum. Its mission is to “inspire minds to understand the natural and cultural world through collection-based discovery, interpretation and education.” It is a humble institution in many ways, having only five permanent exhibit halls and a modest special exhibit program. But it’s a global powerhouse in one particular field—it’s one of a handful of institutions that specialize in documenting the declining amphibian species of Central and South America. Given the accelerating pace of extinctions, this museum may soon be the only place in the world at which the DNA sequences of some of these creatures will be preserved—otherwise they will go extinct without a single trace remaining.

We would argue that in the specific case of Museum A, there is a strong ethical argument for applying the gift to growing the amphibian collection rather than to subsidizing visits by underserved families. The opportunity cost of not serving the families is real—human potential may go unrealized because a young man or woman did not benefit from the life-transforming spark a museum visit can supply. This is no small thing. But Museum A has a collections specialty that serves not only its community—or even its nation—but humanity at large, and that is not duplicated by any other institution. For Museum A to forego sending out teams to collect amphibians from rapidly disappearing populations in the field is not like foregoing the purchase of a new gem collection, which would have little if any scientific value. Instead, it means missing the opportunity to preserve animals that, if not documented by Museum A, may disappear without a trace—the adaptations recorded in their physiology and in their DNA lost forever. And, perhaps, missing the opportunity to discover why these species are disappearing and how we might stem the loss.

Now let’s look at Museum B—a comprehensive art museum located downtown in a midsized industrial city. Its mission statement avows, “We believe in the power of art to ignite the imagination, stimulate thought and provide enjoyment. Through our collection and programs, we strive to integrate art into the lives of people.” Museum B’s city is undergoing waves of economic change as traditional industrial jobs have moved offshore, reducing employment and wages in many neighborhoods. At the same time, the city is struggling to assimilate new communities of immigrants, notably a large and growing Muslim population. Despite all the change, Museum B’s visitors remain much as they were 20 years ago: predominantly middle- to upper-middle class and overwhelmingly Caucasian.

Here the case for applying the gift to developing new audiences among presently underserved families seems overwhelming. Yes, the museum could add one more Renaissance painting to its Italian collection or round out its Pop Art collection with a good Roy Lichtenstein. Such acquisitions would add depth to the collection, and it’s a great time to buy—the art market is in a slump right now and it could be a long time before you see such good prices again as you could get today. But it’s hard to see how such refinement of the collection will be transformative for the institution in achieving its mission “to integrate art into the lives of people.” By contrast, reaching out to new audiences—especially perhaps those new immigrants—could revolutionize the museum’s ability to do just that. Through expanding access to its existing collection, the museum could help its new neighbors connect, through art, with the heritage of their new home. The immigrants in turn could help the museum develop or identify artistic representations of their culture—representations that would help longtime residents of the community better understand their new neighbors.

Going back to our casuist analysis, both Museum A and Museum B could reach their respective conclusions through either ethical or practical reasoning. Museum A has a better chance of successfully applying for major research grants if it focuses on work of international importance. Museum B is at risk of creeping demographic irrelevance. By building ties with communities that may be marginal now, but that will be economic, demographic and political powers in the city in decades to come, it may in fact be ensuring its own future.

So give case-based reasoning a try, and see where you end up. You may find that by starting with your own institution’s mission and candidly appraising your current situation—where you are strong, and where you are weak; where the services you provide are generic and where they are unique—the road to consensus is not as hard as it seems. 

Elizabeth M. Merritt is founding director, AAM’s Center for the Future of Museums, and Erik Ledbetter is director, AAM international programs and ethics.